


Extra Ordinary

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [41]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Laws, Cinderella Elements, F/M, Harry Potter was Raised by Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, Malfoy Family, Molly Weasley Bashing, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: After generations of fighting, the war against the kingdom of Marvolo is over. Surtse, established by Helga Hufflepuff long before the Blood Wars, has secured peace for all of wizarding and muggle kind. Marvolo has been dissolved and the once four magical kingdoms are now three.It's time to celebrate, right?If only it was that simple.





	1. Certain

“Granger!!!”

She looked up from her work to see the platinum blonde prat standing there. That usual sneer there on his face. She wondered often if that sneer was because of her features, because of her parents, because of his prejudice, or just because she was doing his homework. 

She looked back at her hands, brown and smudged with ink, wryly. Her nails used to be clean, polished, filed and cared for regularly. These days the closest she got to taking care of her hands was simply rubbing them in oil when she finished washing clothes. It had staved off the absolute horror that her hands could have been given the state of some of the servants in the Malfoy house, but it would take a lot more to restore them to their former glory. 

_ Nothing that a bit of Granger magic can’t fix, Mia. _

Her mother’s voice didn’t hurt as much as before. 

“Are you done yet?” He asked coming towards her. 

He placed a hand on the edge of the desk and leaned over her.  Her lips twitched at how nice his hands were. Unblemished from toil, he hadn’t even begun to develop callouses from wielding his wand. Soft, oiled, perfumed-- they were the hands of the upper class. Her stomach churned at the thought. 

_ Breathe,  _  she urged herself.  _ Nothing is forever. _

“Yes, if you'd look it over.”

Draco rolled his eyes and signed her receipt book. She handed it to him and watched him leave. She shrugged looking at the still glowing signature before closing it and standing. She went to find Narcissa’s list for the week to check the items that were already done before she went about finishing the rest. Reshelving the library, cooking the meals, washing laundry and setting the table were all that were left for the day. 

She'd carried out the last platter when the normal amount of chaos came running into the hall. The children, the older children, and others coming in to sit at the table a refined space apart yet still cramming into each other’s space. Narcissa sat at the head of the table watching the servants move about and Hermione serve dishes along with them. If she spared a glance towards the woman, she knew there would be that cold calculating look there, a glimpse of contempt, and more self-righteousness than a woman that cruel had the right to be.

She left them to their meal and went back to washing dishes. Narcissa had added more to the list since the last time she looked at it. There was just enough on it get done that she wouldn’t have much time to read as she lay under the stars in the warm, summer air. 

The stars trembled above her as she held the last book her father had brought home close to her chest. She hadn't had time to mourn the loss of all of her other books and things, no time to mourn everything she'd lost with the war, only time to focus on what she still had.

Her mind, her heart, and her dignity.

_ I promise father,  _ she thought looking up and trying to ignore the way her eyes burned. Hot tears over her brown face, her entire body ached from the day's work. Her clothes were dirty and her hands--

She looked at them, brown and dusted with dryness from harsh dish soap and toil. She’d ran out of oil earlier, the last of her stores from home. She could see them aging, wrinkling, morphing with the number of dishes she would wash in the future and the labor she would endure. 

They were a servant's hands until you looked closer at the paper thin cuts from books carving their pages into her. Maybe they were a scholar’s hands.Either way they were hers and worlds different from the hands she used to have. She used to relish the days when she and her mother would pamper themselves at home as a treat for being so studious.

_ Ma belle, a woman's hands betray her world,  _  her mother said as they lounged in the sun wrapped in soft robes and relaxed as the special mix of herbs and oils worked their magic.

What would her hands say about her? She smirked, imagining her mother, her warm smile, and rich voice.

_ That you are a fighter, a survivor just like your mother. _

She laughed and curled up in the grass, relaxed and somehow settled.

Perhaps, she'd visit Molly for a spell, just a moment. That always cheered her up even if the woman seemed hell bent on getting her to marry her youngest son. She had nothing particularly against Ronald. The Weasleys had more or less been kind to her in their own way and painfully ignorant of the effect of their pure blood status influenced their interactions with her. They weren’t of Malfoy status, but Arthur still held a seat in the Wizengamot Council because of his pureblood. 

In Surtse, such things carried great clout such that even a muggle like her should have been  _ grateful _ that Molly wanted her in the family. 

_ Grateful,  _  she thought ruefully. Never mind that the Weasleys were barely scraping by to pay rent, struggling no worse than some of the poorest muggles in Surtse.

_ Ronald is a good man, dear. You’ll see. He may not earn much, but he’ll make enough and really that’s all you need.  _

She’d already had  _ enough. _ Her parents had been well-to-do but they had never flung their money carelessly. The estate that the Grangers owned was more a business investment than home now that they were gone. They taught her the meaning of enough. Enough meant  _ comfortable. _ She’d had enough. She’d had less than enough and  _ just barely scraping by _ . She clutched the book to her chest. 

She didn’t want enough anymore. She didn’t want to be so close to comfortable that she could taste it or so far away that she dreamed of it. She wouldn’t take just  _ enough _ anymore.


	2. Imprisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because she's Hermione Granger and most people think that's a terrible thing.
> 
> They must not know...

The door opened and slammed closed to her relief. No doubt Narcissa was taking the fastest route to the manor in order to gather whatever Hermione had left behind to throw out with the rubbish. She was probably changing the wards so she wasn’t allowed on the property as well. 

It was a good thing that Hermione had packed up everything she owned and that had survived the three long years since she'd been taken from the Granger estate the night before. Something had told her to be prepared to never come back to that horrible place because Narcissa was a spiteful woman. 

She’d been right, more so than she’d realized until today. 

_ Those lying selfish _ \--

There weren’t enough curses wizarding or muggle to express the rage she felt. There weren’t enough words to fully dress down Narcissa to the barest, darkest part of herself and smash it to pieces the way she’d attempted to break Hermione over the last three years. She took a deep breath and looked over to Minerva who shook her head.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” she said gently. “They say the Malfoys are snakes, who would have thought how much?”

“You could always petition the king,” her lawyer said in his old trembling voice. Brilliant and kind man had done all he could to fight it, but there was nothing for it. 

Surtse was in a war that threatened the very freedoms they enjoyed exploiting. The noble court would have little to say about a rule that affected them so little and benefitted them so much. The look on McGonagall’s face told her that she was right in at least that assumption.

“This came from the royal court,” Hermione said looking at the page. “There is little to do about it, but to pay it and make them pay for it later.”

Minerva shook her head looking at the calculations. It was unfair, but in the middle of war the regent had run amuck making all sorts of laws that had yet to be sussed out or reassessed. The Orphan Clause being one of them. It was a way for primarily wizarding nobility to have an assured source of income and property in case of spousal debt as well as incentivize wizards to take in muggle wards. She had no doubt that Narcissa had subjected herself and her line to the perceived shame of a common bond with William for that purpose in order to deal with her late husband's debts.

It stated that by law any person underage who was left without blood parents as a result of the war were considered temporary tenants of any house they stayed. In addition to those parties, there were people who willingly took residence in a wizard’s home for protection during the war. Upon their coming of age or the end of the war, back rent was due in full minus whatever work had been done in service to the family that they stayed with. 

Hermione couldn't help but laugh when she'd found this out years ago. She had kept documentation of her  _ service _ to the Malfoy Family and their wards since she arrived there. She hadn't minded the days of toil and sleeping by the dying fire to remain warm. The physical pain and mental exercise had dulled grief's edge enough to remind her not to get comfortable but to persevere. Her father's legacy was waiting for her rebuild it and grow. Her family home was waiting for her to return, revitalize and make even grander than before. 

The name Granger would mean something more than an old company with dead owners once more. She'd been meant for more than to be the subject of that sniveling twit, that evil woman and her full group of high born, low class wizards.

She'd been meant for far more and when she’d pulled out the years of paperwork, she’d proven it without question. Even her family’s lawyer had been shocked at the detail she’d put into her documents. Minerva had stared along with the old man as Hermione set it all down as evidence for proof of her “service”.

She'd impressed their accountant, one Severus Snape, by her detailed record of her work signed by the house staff, signed by Draco’s hand and magic signature, Crabbe, Goyle, etc. There was no legal way to argue the worth of her work and the standard wizarding tutoring contract stated that she was paid a bonus equivalent of at least 10% of the original invoice depending on the grade. Given that Draco and his friends were at the top of their wizarding classes as well as their muggle classes, the percentage was closer to 20%. When they factored in the number of years of service, Hermione’s need to escape her grief through the seemingly endless list of chores had quickly eaten through several years of debt leaving only six months of back rent due on the little hovel of a space she’d been granted in the Malfoy Manor.

To think the list of chores had been Narcissa’s way of having a reason to kick her out of the house when she failed to complete them all. The woman flushed a deep red when Hermione pulled out every list, each of them signed by Narcissa, spelled to check itself off upon completion.

Despite her diligent record keeping, the amount remaining as set forth by what Narcissa could prove to be her portion of rent was no small amount. It wasn’t insurmountable, but it would take more work than simply taking up a sewing job.

“It is unfair,” Minerva said in a grave voice looking at the invoice that had been finalized by the court and the Malfoy accountant. “But there is no choice but to pay it. I am sorry my dear, but the timing of this isn’t favorable to your parents’ will.”

She wouldn’t receive the money meant to her and assume full control of the Granger Enterprises until after amount was well past due.

“Yes,” Hermione said. 

It was a lot and having the money her parents left to her would have paid it easily, but she was a Granger. If there was anything that she could do, it was sell someone somethng. 

_ Ma belle, you need only charm to get people to listen. The product sells itself, _ her father had told her once when she was just a little girl.  _ One day, you will find your Granger and Rasun charm. _

Her lips twitched as she contemplated the number. Spread out over the course of a year, it was far more than she’d make just tutoring. No doubt that Draco would black list her from any of his wizarding friends who needed house, but if not he certainly would maintain her services for himself if possible.

“I have a plan.”

*

Narcissa screeched throwing a vase to the ground and watching it shatter. It did little to make her problem, her very curly haired, dark skinned problem, go away, but it made her feel a little better. 

Lucius had loved that vase and he was the reason she was in the state that she was. Why the Malfoy name was in the state that it was-- barely hanging on by a thread. 

Numbers swirled. Invoices, back due debts, repossession slips, tax documents, closed accounts, the back invoiced list of Hermione’s service--

“I will not be ruined by that muggle  _ wretch!” _

Draco watched her throw a fit feeling a bit frightened. It seemed that Narcissa had picked up her late husband's rage. Not to mention he would have to find another person to do his work and tutor him until the end of his wizarding schooling.

Narcissa froze and as if she’d been hearing his thought, she turned on him. Her usually loving eyes were dark and horrified. Her eyes darted to the list in her hand, glaring at the line that read “Wizarding Tutoring”.

“She did your wizarding homework?”Draco gave her a slow nod and she cursed, “That wretch is a  _ witch? _ ”

Draco nodded and flinched as she shrieked again, letting out a harsh breath. That wench had known all this time? Maybe not about inheriting the estate, the reasons for being taken away from the estate, but she knew that whatever she'd inherited Narcissa planned on taking it. The sly  _ bitch _ wouldn’t get away with this.  Granger Enterprises would be hers one way or another--

She choked on a breath and let out another scream.

_ Damn you William,  _  she thought. 

How was it that even the best men seemed to screw her over? How was it that she didn’t think about it for not even a moment? Hermione’s keen eyes, William’s choice to stay with her even after finding out her infidelity. It hadn’t been for the magical connections she came with-- it had been for his precious daughter.

Harboring a muggle-born witch in plain sight of a wizarding family! Narcissa paled. She couldn’t let this out. She couldn’t be implicated in the reveal of Hermione’s magic. For god’s sake the Malfoy name was already in danger? She’d thought William had been too deep in his melancholy, too honest, too noble to be such a snake to use her not only for her connections but for the guise the Malfoy name allowed Hermione to live under. 

If only William hadn't had that will, she wouldn’t be fretting like this. They'd fought about her keeping the Malfoy estate, of not changing her name, about her own assets and they'd agreed, more or less, to keep their assets separate. It had been an agreement made primarily because of his muggle name and every drop of her pure blood screamed in protest of relinquishing the Malfoy name for the muggle  _ Granger _ . It was bad enough that she was bonding to a muggle rather than being married to another wizard. 

Unfortunately, all other wizards worthy of the Malfoy status knew of her husband’s debt. 

It had been fine until he'd caught her with a general. She'd been trying to get the Malfoy debt cleared away, part of their agreement, and it had been such a little thing, a  _ meaningless _ thing. Curse William for have such a strong sense of right, wrong and  _ legal _ proceedings. Curse him and his honest smile while he played her! 

Debts that had to be paid still from the Malfoy estate would remain so. The war had kept them from breathing down their necks because of the influx of tenants that had come to the Malfoy manor with all of its magical warding and space. She'd almost hoped that the Granger Estate would have been destroyed, but it had remained untouched, the land around it more or less abandoned since she dismissed the household, but no worse for wear than when she left it.

“She won't be able to do it,” Draco said.

Narcissa sighed looking at her son, He looked just like his father with his platinum blonde hair and silver eyes, but Lucius had never worn that expression on his face. Draco cared. Draco wanted to assure her. Draco was young, inexperienced and frightened at seeing her like this. 

“Never underestimate a woman in distress,” she said as she straightened herself and vanished the broken vase away.

Draco wasn't sure to make of that statement, but he left and headed back to his room a little shell-shocked. In the morning, Narcissa is gone and Draco went into town to clear his head. 

As he walked down the main street, he saw Hermione coming from the library. Her satchel full of books bumped against her thigh as usual.  Her wildly curly hair was in loose spirals, held back by a thick braid along her hairline. Her nose stuck in one of them,walking hard and fast in her dress across the cobblestone street. He recognized it as once that she’d been mending and sizing up for year. It seemed to have been given a new skirt maybe, cleaned and presentable for casual appearances.

A man handed out newspapers about the war to passerbys. She paused for a moment to take one before hurrying on into a shop that Draco had never noticed before. 

_ Essence Care, _ he thought curiously. 

Draco can't help it really. He watched through the window as she spoke briefly with the woman inside. They chatted amicably and Hermione took notes. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, nor read their lips, but when it was done they exchanged hugs and Hermione left the shop. She tucked her notebook into her satchel, opened the book she’d been reading and carried on. 

Draco followed her around town the rest of day, deciding that this was a better use of his time than going to class. Whatever Hermione was doing was something that his mother needed to know about and would affect how Hermione’s ability to pay back the debt. 

He hoped for something concrete and useful, but she did nothing more than stop in to say hello to various people who all seem excited to see her, hugging her tightly. She pulled out her notebook more often than not and sometimes pieces of parchment to take notes on and to mark up. Sometimes, she poured over it with the owners of the shops. They nodded enthusiastically and smiled at her as she scribbled away. She always hugged someone and shook someone’s hand before she left the establishment. When she was outside, she tucked her notes away, opened her book again and kept walking. 

Draco took note of all the establishments that she’d visited. At the very least he knew what contracts and negotiations meant. Perhaps Narcissa would be able to make more sense of what she could be doing given some information. When he arrived home, Narcissa pulled him into the office with Severus and the lawyer to talk business. Business that he was training to learn, had been tutored by Hermione to know. Business that he only comprehended marginally beyond the fact that whatever Narcissa stood to gain from Hermione’s failure was something she desperately needed.

“Well, how likely is it that she can pull this off?” Narcissa asked with a withering sigh.

“That would be a question for her accountant, Narcissa,” Severus said in his usual monotone.

She glowered at him then looked to the lawyer, “Tell me something, Zabini.”

“There isn't a sensible merchant alive who would entrust their business to a seventeen-year-old girl. She's barely of wizarding age even if she was a wizard.”

Narcissa looked at him, “You're certain of that?”

“As certain as I can be.”

“Mother,” Draco started offering her a list. “I think perhaps you should see this.”

*

Narcissa hadn’t been livid as he thought she would be, but had gone deathly pale. She kissed his head, hissed at Zabini and went to go find her most trustworthy salesmen to go to every shop on the list. Never mind that she didn’t know what Hermione went in to try and negotiate, but even being turned down could be valuable information.

Draco saw Hermione again a week later, guiding a wagon from the port in a work tunic and  breeches. Her usually bushy hair tamed into a thick braid beneath a hat. She greeted the man coming out to meet her with a smile, a hug and bright Italian, before helping him unload.

“Stop! Your mother would have my soul!”

She laughed and put her hands up in surrender before yelling for his sons to come help. They all greeted Hermione as she stood with their father and tallied up the bill. He handed over the pouch, she counted it out recorded it and handed him a receipt with a smile.

“Easy, Brego, love,” she said kindly petting the horse. “You've done well.”

The horse nudged her as she swung up onto its back, riding side saddle and waved the family goodbye, heading back to the port. 

Within an hour, he's exhausted from just watching her work. Walking everywhere, making deliveries, large and small, visiting, reading. How she kept going he didn't know, but he left her to go home before dusk.

Hermione didn't go back to the estate until closer to midnight after the last delivery to a bar. She hadn't been back because she'd been staying at the library or at the office where Minerva worked. Tonight would be the first time she would lead Brego home since hiring herself as a sales representative and delivery a week ago. 

Her feet had not forgotten the gravel path, nearly overgrown from lack of use. She'd have to trim it before moving everything back to the estate, including Minerva’s office. She put Brego into the stables, bedded him down and walked towards the house, taking a shuddering breath with her bag on her shoulder before opening the front door. 

“Maman, I'm home.”

She waited a beat before closing the door. 

“Is Papa home yet?”

She heard the wind and nothing more as she walked through the foyer, past the hearth and further into the house. As classic and beautiful as ever, the foyer had lost none of its elegance in the years she’d been gone, nor any of its wonder. Every inch tugged on her memories. 

She’d learned to crawl, to walk, to run, to sew, and think on these hardwood floors. She followed her memories up the stairs to where their bedrooms had been once. A little girl with her smile and eyes, her bushy brown hair, racing up the stairs to wake her parents for breakfast. She turned from the door towards her old bedroom. 

The door creaked with age as she pushed it open and stepped into it. Her bedroom was still the way she'd left it. Books on the shelves were covered in dust, the bed positioned just so and the daybed by the window had yellowed from the years of sunlight. 

She could almost hear her mother reading to her from those cushions. A younger version of herself curled in bed, lulled by the sound of her voice.

_ For she was not a woman to be forgotten... _

She smiled and recited the rest of the line, “They would rue the day they crossed her. They and their descendants would feel her rage. They would look upon her grave centuries later in despair and beg her forgiveness long after she had left the world.”

She chuckled at the memory. It was truly a story not meant for a five year old, but one that she had loved and still loved into her teenaged years. Hermione turned from the room and went to the room she and her mother would spend hours together: the library.

Her father told her once that they’d met in the library and that she had inherited her love for books from the late Lady Granger, but she never quite believed him. 

It was just as they'd left it, a bit dusty, but just the same. The throw colored like twilight still lay across the couch. The other furniture was all covered in white sheets including the smaller bookshelves. She opened the window and shook out the throw before sinking onto the couch and wrapping herself with it. The dust burned her eyes as she lay down, burned her throat, but she couldn’t feel it beyond the sobbing.

She dreamt of her parents that night. Her mother singing, her father stroking her hair gently and carefully.

_ May it be when the wind blows… _

_ You hear my song to you.  _

_ Should it be when your heart is dark,  _

_ It leads me to you... _


	3. The Last War

The war started before he was born, before his father had even been old enough to hold a sword, before anyone he’d ever met in his family had been born. It was a war unlike any in the history of the world to have last so long, wizarding or muggle and it all started with one man’s quest for power and obsession with his own perceived superiority. 

There were four original kingdoms in the beginning. Surtse, the heart kingdom where wizards were more neutral than confrontational. It had been represented by Helga Hufflepuff at the first Council of Wizards. Then there was Hogwarts which had been led and represented by Godric Gryffindor. Espirit, led and represented by Rowena Ravenclaw and Marvolo ruled and represented by Salazar Slytherin. 

Each kingdom had their own way of doing things from governing trade to dealing with muggles, but among them Salazar had always taken the approach that a wizard’s place was standing firmly on a muggle’s back. 

When Salazar’s cruelty spread and the Blood Wars began, the other three were forced to ally with Marvolo to protect the wizarding populace from being exploited. No muggle could ever marry into a wizarding family, neither any muggle born. The closest thing people had to marriage between a muggle and a wizard were called Common Bonds and could be broken at any time. Only those with an established and verifiable magical lineage could officially be married in the wizarding way. They’d sealed it into an Unbreakable Bond between the four kingdoms that would last until the last day of their countries. Yet Salazar hadn’t been satisfied with ensuring the  _ purity _ of the wizarding race. He wanted  _ dominion  _ for the wizarding race and while fear of extinction had fueled their first alliance, there was nothing to garner their agreement for that endeavor. 

The war between the four should have ended with Salazar’s death, but he’d set the throne of Marvolo to be inherited by any who could wield his staff. Imbued with his power, his malice, and his prejudice it possessed every possessor in the line. With each successor, the staff absorbed more malice making each iteration more monstrous than the last. 

Viktor was determined to end it in his generations so that his children, the children of his brothers, and the rest of Surtse would know true peace.

The country of Marvolo, currently ruled by Tom Riddle, the Lord Voldemort, took up Salazar’s mantle with such gusto that the war had spread beyond the four kingdoms. Grindelwald, Riddle’s predecessor as ruler and the murderer of Viktor’s grandfather, had chosen an heir far more vicious and monstrous than he was or any of his predecessors had dreamed.

Surtse, Viktor’s home country, led the fight against Marvolo along with Hogwarts and Espirit as well as other magical and muggle countries since before the time of Grindelwald. Though they battled and drove back the forces of Marvolo, they always resurged with the ascension of another ruler. In all the years of defeating rulers of Marvolo, no one had been able to capture the staff of Salazar Slytherin, the lifeblood of Marvolo’s line. Thus, the battles rolled on with each new ruler of Marvolo in a seemingly never ending line of succession through decades, then through centuries. Every battle and every death had been leading to this moment, culminating in the cry across the battlefield that finally meant that Marvolo had fallen.

This moment of victory for witches, wizards, mages, and muggle alike was something that couldn’t be expressed in the cry of one man. He can hear the roar echo through his , reverberating through his chest plate and shaking the ground beneath their feet. In one hand was the staff of Salazar Slytherin, the key to the country of Marvolo, in the other was the the leader of the opposing army. He lifted them both high above his head as he stood on the Morsemorde Cliffs overlooking the battlefield. It was littered with bodies and centuries of battle, yet today it saw its first ray of light and peace. The dark tower of Marvolo had fallen and the perpetual storm system that had always sat over Marvolo had broken with the death of the last successor.

It was finally over. 

Viktor’s entire body ached. The adrenaline of nearly losing his life in the dark castle to the hissing remains of Lord Voldemort had was fading quickly, but he cannot feel the pain or latent terror it over the roar of triumph in his blood. It rushed through him, around the pain, and fear and came out of his mouth with a sure and loud cry.

“Surtse wins this day!” 

His men cheered and the opposing forces stared up at him and their leader in awe. 

It was over. 

The man in Viktor’s hand whimpered and begged him not to drop him before  he lowered him to the ground on his knees.

“Kill me, go ahead!”

Viktor looked down at the man. He was more of a noble’s build than a warrior. Though he wore armor, it was more for show. He’d found the man feebly attempting to defend the throne, speaking about hostages he had to protect by stopping him. He remembered how old and how tired he looked then, pale from terror. His dark hair streaked through with silver grey and his face aged beyond his years. 

It was true that being captured by Lord Voldemort weighed heavily on a soul, but he  had not expected such a ghoulish appearance after only a few months in Marvolon custody. He remembered shoving the man out of the way as Lord Voldemort hissed a spell that would have killed him. He remembered feeling his strength wane as he entered the hall as if the staff and Voldemort only existed so long as there was a wizard around to feed it with their life force.

It seemed that in all the panic, the man did not remember any of those moments.

“King Stefan, I have no reason to kill you.”

He looked up at the Surtsean knight, confused and then glanced to the ment below the cliff who looked up at him in terror.

“How did you--”

“We fight for peace.” Viktor said and lowered the staff to the ground. The dark aura thrashed against shield he’d erected over his hand. It would not remain subdued for long in Viktor’s exhausted state, but his protections would last long enough to get it wrapped properly. “Now that the fighting has ended, we can talk peace. Marvolo has fallen.”

He paled, “How?”

His eyes drifted to Viktor’s hand that glowed with a bright blue light around the dark staff of Salazar Slytherin. He drew back terrified of it, but gasped. If this knight had the staff, then that meant--

HIs eyes burned and tears fell from relief. Tom Riddle was dead and the line of Marvolo would finally end. 

“He was more a monster than man at the end.” Viktor looked at the staff. “I will see to it that it will be destroyed so that it can never be used again.”

Stefan sobbed to himself as Viktor turned to Vladimir who came up behind him, still panting and on edge from the battle. He gawked at the blue aura around Viktor’s hand subduing black and dark purple aura around the staff though it fought against it.

“General…”

“Send word home that Marvolo has fallen and we hold peace talks here. Tell the men rest and bring here the leader of every army on this field.”

“Yes, Sir!” Vladimir grinned and turned.

“Come,” he said to King Stefan. “We have to talk.”

Stefan rose to his feet shakily, frightened and surprised that this victor over Marvolo, a man strong enough to resist the temptations of the staff of Salazar, existed and was so gracious as to let him walk down to his men with his head held high. 

Viktor stopped to usher everyone he found in the castle out not excluding King Stefan’s daughters who clung to their father in terror. 

“Father, are you--”

“I am fine, Lilu,” he said embracing her. “It is over.”

They and the entire castle staff followed them down to winding road to the battlefield. Men cheered their arrival and took them to be tended and fed. Viktor found his horse and eased it as it startled. The staff attempting to reach out to him as Viktor pulled the binding cloth he’d brought with him out of his saddle bag. He wrapped it tightly and activated the sigils to contain it before attaching it to his back. 

He didn’t need any of his men encountering it acidentally and possibly being corrupted. 

“They’re in the large tent,” Ivan said gesturing to the large tent that had been set up for the council of generals.

He thanked the man and told him to take a break before walking towards the tent. When he entered, he was surprised. Rather than proud generals facing defeat, they looked at him fearfully as if they had simply been conquered by another monster. He took a seat at the round table and laid out the terms of surrender set forth by the four kingdoms.

“He is dead?”One of them asked, stammering and nervous. 

Viktor’s lips twitched. He’d never considered the idea that they were still terrified of Voldemort. Viktor pulled the staff off his  back and set it on the table still wrapped in the binding cloth. They didn’t need him to unwrap it, recognizing its distinctive shape and the glow of the symbols on the cloth. They stared at it with terror and Viktor offered any of them the chance to test the truth of what the staff’s presence meant.

It's the wizard of Manchester who tested it, casting the life-seeker spell and finding it unable to be fulfilled.

The man, the monster, was dead.

“What will happen to Marvolo?”

“The land is to be put under martial order until the reforms can be completed. In short, Marvolo is to be dissolved and revitalized once all over Voldemort’s followers have been captured and dealt with.”

Each of them looked at the terms of surrender and signed without hesistation. Tarrifs and reparations were nothing compared to the horror of being under Marvolo’s control and their loved ones held hostage. Viktor wondered how many of them had sons or daughters that had been held at the castle. How long it had been since any of them had seen them, held them in their arms and how much of a relief it was to be free. 

“Tend to your wounded, good sirs,” he said and stood picking up the staff and standing. “We will be in touch. If you know anyone that was recovered from the castle, they are with the medic. Identify them and find rest. No harm will come to you.”

They nodded as he departed. Viktor crossed field towards where the wounded and the dead were being readied for transport to give a copy to the messenger. He saw them off and tended the rest of his duties. His men cheered his approach and offered him food. He ate and carried on until he returned to his horse. He pitched his small tent at the edge of camp and crawled in, glad for the sound of his men’s relief and happiness. They celebrated and sang songs of their impending return hom. 

The war was over. 

Truly over.

He looked over to the staff with relief. 

_ Over. _

Just as the truth if it all began to settle in, like a warmth that eased the tension out his entire body, he began to pen his official report to the King of Surtse and the Counsel of the Kingdoms. A shadow darkened the entrance to his tent and paced before it. 

“Come in if you are going to, but do not pace at my door.”

The figure stopped with a sigh and moved the flap. He kneeled down to crawl inside, a letter tucked into his armor and a dark expression.

“Viktor,” he began, worrying his lip and refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why so blue?” Viktor asked looking at him. “We’ve won.”

“It's your father.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as Vladimir offered him the page.

“From your mother…”


	4. Handsome Stranger

Hermione turned homeward with a sigh of exhaustion. She tucked her documents away and pulled out her book to distract her from the ache in her feet. She would have to stop soon for food, something good and cheap, as well as to rest them. No matter how exhausted she was she couldn’t lose sight of the reality. 

She would be free if she just kept going. She walked for an hour before stopping to grab food and travel the last stretch back to the estate. Her shoulder twinged with tension and she rolled it to try and work out the knot.

_ Just a little more, _ she pleaded and stretched as best she could with her eyes on her book and bread between her teeth. When the tension was manageable, she drew her cloak around her to hide her pack from sight, traded the book for her notebook and walked. She flipped through her lists. Though she had crossed out pages of items, it seemed that she had always more tasks to add to it. Most of them had to do with fully rehabilitating the estate. 

She’d woken up in the library a little stuffy from the dust, relaxed from the softness of the cushions, but with the startling realization that the house had not be used in the last three years and would more than likely need updating. Things would need replacing in the case of burglary and of course the land would need to be cultivated. She thanked her lucky stars that she would have magic on her side, otherwise it would be an insurmountable task for just one person.

_ New training wand, _ she added to the list absently.   _ Tester bottles. _

She jotted down the list of ingredients and supplies she’d need to buy or find on the estate when a song caught her attention.

“ _ For Surtse, we fight on.  _

_ My heart is Surtse.  _

_ For Surtse, we fight on.  _

_ For peace, for king and love--  _

_ For Surtse, we fight on. _ ”

She smiled at the deep voice singing the song and turned to find the singer. He was a tall broad shouldered man with a jaw covered in rough dark stubble. With a head of shoulder length hair and armor, he bore the mark of a mage on his gauntlet. His eyes were a dark color but bright with happiness as he sang carefree into the breeze. His companion was about the same height, thinner with a bow on his back and barely dragging his feet along behind him. The singer had a staff wrapped in cloth on his back, a sword on his waist.

“Tell me again why we did not take a horse?” The singer’s companion near whined.

“The injured needed them,” The singer replied and began to whistle.

“I meant why we have not hired a horse  _ since _ .”

He laughed, loud and handsome in the summer air, “I wanted to return the same way I left--on my own feet.”

“I'm sure your mother is not happy about it.”

“I also secretly dread her scorning.”

His companion laughed and Hermione smiled, watching the people greet them, give thanks and offer them things. People clapped and cheered seeing them. Kids rushed to them asking them questions and they answered. If Hermione knew any better, she'd say it was a purely political move to reassure the people that yes, the war was finally over and the mages and soldiers were coming home at last and for good. It gave them hope and a sense of peace that Surtse had never really known.

For some it was too little too late, but for most it was reason for grand celebrations. For Hermione, it just meant a shift in the workforce available and the demand. People would need medicine, sleeping drafts and things for the remnants of war. Hence she had to get back to the estate to get the greenhouse at the least in order. She had to pay off her date and get back to revitalizing her estate to supply those things and more. 

She turned then, tearing her eyes away from the handsome stranger and continued down the road to take a path through the forest. It was the fastest route to the heart of Surtse: Kula. She could make it by sundown if she didn't stop.

Vladimir watched Viktor wave the people of the small hamlet goodbye, ruffle a child's hair and walk on into the forest. While the people had given then food to travel with, Viktor had forgone the offer of a horse. Kula was less than an hour away.

_ Love _ , Vladimir thought with a smile. Yes, everything he loved was in Kula waiting for him, probably fretting with that adorable habit of wringing his hands and worrying his lip.

_ I’m on my way home,  _  Vladimir thought fondly, remembering the letter he’d sent ahead.

He fully intended to fulfill every promise in that letter and groaned, wishing his feet didn’t hurt as badly as they did otherwise he’d be running. 

“So close,”he said. “I can taste the feasts to be had in your honor.”

“ _ Our _ honor,” Viktor said. “I was not alone in entering the castle. And I am sure that you are  _ tasting _ something else at the moment.”

Vladimir shoved him earning his laugh. “If he heard you speaking that way he’d be red as a tomato.”

Viktor shrugged, “Am I wrong?”

“No, but you were the one to duel him and nearly lose your life for it.” Vladimir said nodding to the staff on Viktor’s back.

Never mind that no one else had been able to get near it without freaking out. The defeat of Voldemort and the honor of the act full rested on Viktor’s shoulders whether he liked it or not.

He shrugged and Vladimir observed him. The younger man didn’t look at him. Though he whistled a happy tune, his eyes betrayed him. There was so little joy there that it made Vladimir’s heart hurt. He saw sadness, despair and--

“You are frightened.”

“Of course I am!” Viktor scoffed, throwing up his hands. “If it wasn't bad enough,  now even my standard issue will not make me just another person! A  _ war hero  _ on top of everything else. Fame is not the reason I went to war, Vlad’.”

It was something that Vladimir who basked and flourished in the spotlight, with attention of the caliber Viktor was dreading wouldn’t understand. Was it so wrong for someone to speak to him like another person and not an object to be won or some animal to capture?

Vladimir shook his head ,”I am missing something. You are rich, you live in the capital, and now you are being heralded as saviour of the free wizarding and muggle world and you are unhappy?”

Viktor groaned. It wasn’t that he was unhappy, it was that he was tired of being treated like a thing to be won instead of a person. No one wanted to know him. They saw his face and said he was handsome sometimes. They saw his title and said they must have him for politics, but never did anyone see Viktor except for his men and that hardly did anything for him. And now, they would see his deeds in the war. They wouldn’t ever see  _ him _ . 

He would rather be alone than be with one of those fools or with someone whom he could never talk with, it was a problem that had snuck up on him with the king’s illness. He knew already that his brothers had arrived home before the war had really been over, some having never left home choosing to take jobs in court instead to help run the kingdom. It was apart of the nobles attempt to  _ pull together _ in the time of crisis. 

From what he’d heard, they’d mostly been helping the nobles make laws as the king’s health failed and curried favor with the nobles. They weren’t adhering to the heart of Surtse and while he had little to no power to do anything about it, it burned him to no end. 

He’d been out on the battlefield risking his life for peace while they were helping to make war in the very kingdom Viktor and his men could have died for. Everyone thought the king would die before announcing his heir. Viktor thought differently. The old man had shown such resilience even in his sickness.

“Look.”

Viktor looked up to see a woman walking through the forest ahead of them with a book in one hand and  her other hand gripping something. Skin darker than rich earth and hair like tangled vines, she was preoccupied with the book in her hand. They could hear her speaking, but not the words. The cloak she wore swished around her and revealed flashed of the satchel across her shoulders. It was heavy with books, large tomes that stretched the satchel to its limit with each step, yet did not break it.

“She must be heading to the capital as well. Perhaps she is a physician?”

Viktor swallowed and watched her as she stopped and extended her hand pointing it at a thatch of dead earth and stone. She spoke something with such conviction that the seedlings sprouted up through the ground, curling and blossoming into a brilliant blue flower. 

“She's a witch,” Vladimir said with a grin. 

It was always a relief to see another magic-user. Revilitiling barren ground meant she was at least well attuned to her magic. Earth magic was notoriously hard to master.

“An earth mage perhaps?” Vladimir asked as they approached her and she plucked the flower to examine it.

“Excuse me, miss,” Vladimir called out to her. 

The trees rustled and all the hair at the nape of Viktor’s neck stood up. 

Viktor drew his sword and raised his hand. “Get down!”

Vladimir dove away from the burst of light as bandits descended upon the woman. She ducked out of the way and and rammed her elbow into one of their faces as Viktor’s blast hit several of them. He lifted his sword to meet a downward swing and throw the man back. 

“Knights always have the best money and that little strumpet will sell for a nice price so far away from the coast--”

The woman stopped moving and raised her hand. VIktor heard something in the wind, felt something rush from beneath her feet and around the clearing. For a moment, the world was silent. The only warning any of them got was the sound of the earth moving aside to let the rapid growth break through. One thick root grew unruly, trapping the ankles of bandits, vines wrapped around their wrists, binding them fast as she stood, dusted off her clothes, picking up her book and glaring at the bandits.

“You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, attacking an innocent woman in the woods. Why if I were a lesser woman I'd knock you out and let these two knights take you to the king!”

“Wh-What?” One of them stammered as she regarded them carefully.

“No, no. Jail with the state of the capital is too good for the likes of you.”

Vladimir’s eyes widened at her words. He and Viktor shared a glance before continuing to listen to her. If her voice wasn’t lovely, the authority and raw power she spoke with was alluring in and of itself. She was definitely a witch, he could hear it in her voice, the lilt of magic escaping with every breath.

“Instead, I'm going to curse you,” she said with a smile and waved her hand, hand alight and bright lights settling over the small group.

“All done,” she said cheerily. “Now if you don't want these two strapping men to cart you off, I'd suggest you run. Run as fast as you can.”

They took one glance at the two knights and turned to take her advice. She was sure she’d never seen a bandit move that fast. Shaking her head, she sighed, opened her book, and walked on.

“Wait, Miss.”

“Yes?” she asked, stopping but not raising her head to look at Viktor. 

“You're a mage?”

“Oh, no, nothing so titled. I am, however, a witch.”

“What did you curse them with?”

“Oh, to never steal from Surtse’s people. It's more a contagion, they'll pass it off to everyone they meet. I think my employer will be quite happy.”

“Quite so.” he said with an incredulous laugh.

It wasn't often that a wizard with such advanced spell knowledge wasn't ranked. In Surtse, it was required those of wizarding lineages be tested and trained. Through that training, they were given wizarding rank. It was the kind of system designed to keep the magical populace and keep wizards in check from abusing muggles. He knew other countries didn't have such things in place. Perhaps she wasn’t native to Surtse?

She glanced over the top of her book for a moment. He still couldn’t see her face, though she had seen his. All he had to go one was the rich, warm brown of her skin and the sound of her voice and he had a feeling that she was keeping it that way for a reason.

“Well, thank you for your help and safe journey.”

He blinked as she headed off, but rushed to catch up with her, cutting her off. She stopped, but still didn’t raise her head from her book. Vladimir watched from a distance, intrigued at the dark skinned woman who looked like she hailed from the coast of Espirit.

“What do they call you?”

“Nevermind what they call me,” she said her eyes on her book. “Welcome home, sir knights.”

“A warm welcome indeed,” he said looking at her clothing. They were rather nice but not so nice to be noble which make her harder to figure out . She wore no mark of any wizarding family, nor guild.

Who was she?

She walked around him and forced him to turn around to catch up. She paid him no heed except to ask if he intended to follow her all the way home. There’s amusement in her voice that made him blush even as his mind was dizzy with the sound of her voice.

_ Siren, _ he thought. Perhaps she was descended from that class of wizards? They weren’t common to Espirit, but they also weren’t common to any wizarding kingdom as they’d retreated to the sea mists at the beginning of the Blood Wars.

_ That can’t be possible, _ he thought. A magical bloodline like that wouldn’t show itself so strongly now unless her most recent siren relation was at most a generation or two before her.

“Perhaps we could see each other again?” Viktor said as they neared the city borders and she began to turn east.

“Perhaps, but I warn you, sir knight, I am quite busy.”

He smiled, “I'll chance it. My name is--”

She vanished at the chiming of the capital’s bells.

“Apparation?” Vladimir said. “Wow.”

It made her all the more intriguing and all the more obvious that she was more than likely not of Surtse.

“Yes. And I still didn't manage to get her name.”

Nor what her face looked like. 

Gods help him.

*

“Four thousand, eight hundred, fifty-six galleons, three-hundred sickle, and twelve knuts.”

Severus looked up as she set the payment on the table and raised only one eyebrow.  He pulled his sleeves up and opened the bag carefully. The coins tinkled against one another as he began to weigh them out. Hermione waited until he gave her the receipt of her payment to tally up her books with his and get her stamp of office before leaving.

“Have a great day, Mage Snape.”

Severus placed the money in his enchanted safe and continued on with his work, shaking his head. Narcissa was in over her head with Hermione. He’d known that from the moment she pulled out years of paperwork and records during the reconciliation hearing. 

_ She will learn, _ Severus thought, sitting back in his chair. After all, the window of opportunity for Narcissa claiming anything from her late husband’s estate to cover her former husband’s debts was shrinking faster than she realized if Hermione continued to bring in payments the way she did..

Hermione was the daughter of a merchant. Cunning, strategic, charming--he bet she'd have her debt paid in full long before the day it was considered due.

_ Merlin help you, Narcissa. For Ms. Granger will not. _

*

“So how much did you manage this month, Granger? A few sickles?”

Hermione turned to see Draco sneering down his nose at her as usual. Apparently, he was back to following her around again.

“If you have questions about my debt to your family, please direct them to your family’s accountant.”

Draco flushed as she turned away and headed  back into town. He doesn’t ask Severus about it, but waits until Narcissa comes home shrieking in frustration. Apparently, how much ever Hermione managed to scrape together in the last month had been enough to piss her off again.

The bit of reconnaissance he’d managed hadn’t proved useful to Narcissa.

He would just have to try harder.

*

Hermione arrived at the estate, got out of her work clothes and into her field clothes before grabbing her tool box and her training wand. She was exhausted, but if she wanted to keep the pace she set for her repayment, then she needed to get outside in the field and work. 

She closed the back door behind her and trudged out beyond the backyard, clearing up the stone path that led to the old greenhouse.

When her parents were alive, it had been used for flowers and her mother’s experimentation, but if she expanded it, she’d have more working space and a chance to grow more ingredients for potions. Once she’d expanded it a significant amount, she left the materials to build the gardening boxes in the greenhouse and headed out into the fields to practice casting her growth charms.

They were necessary for her wizarding assessment and getting a real wizarding license, not the functional one she had that allowed her to study for school and own a training wand. It would mean she’d get a real focusing object, not a training wand. It meant access to the magical library.

It meant more and more meant a faster repayment. 

She walked down the rows, envigorating plants and weeding for hours before dragging herself to the old gazebo. It was old, dusty, but familiar and comfortable enough to lay her head down.

She promised herself five minute, just fine before she would scrape together breakfast and head out for the day. 

_ Just five-- _

She woke up to the sound of the rooster crowing in her ear several hours later.


	5. In Honor of His Highness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christopher Rupert, son of his Majesty Queen Constantina...

“I feared we would truly never see home again,” Vladimir said looking up at the shining halls of the castle as they walked the cobblestone path towards the palace. 

“Y-You’ve returned,” the guards stammered, staring at them in awe and confusion. 

Viktor smiled and pat one of them on the shoulder, “So we have.”

There was no time wasted announcing their arrival. The sound of Surtesean trumpets carried through the courtyard and up to the highest part of the castle. There was no one in the castle that didn’t know that two beloved knights had returned alive from war. 

Vladimir followed him into the foyer as Viktor let his eyes roam over the familiar walls of the palace. It had felt like an eternity in Marvolo, but now that he was here, he could see that nothing had truly changed.

“Vitya!”

He looked up. The woman at the top of the stairs looking down at him with glossy eyes. He smiled and let his bag slide off his shoulders before taking the stairs three at a time to get to her. He lifted her into his arms and spun around, squeezing her tightly.

“I’m home,” he said as her clung to him, weeping happy tears into his armor. “I’m home and it’s really over.”

“I see you’ve returned,” a voice he knew relatively well drifted down the steps. 

He turned to see Ivan, his eldest brother, coming down the stairs with that same haughty look he always wore. It had annoyed him years ago, before the war, now he could only smile and rush to hug his eldest brother. 

“It is wonderful to see you, Ivan!”

The man let out an indignant shriek, “You’re covered in  _ filth!  _ Get off of me, you oaf!”

He released the man chuckling, “Forgive me, brother. I am simply basking in the joy of being home.”

He waved his hand and the dirt from travelling vanished from Ivan’s clothes. The man seemed only to glare him more sternly. Ivan had inherited little by way of magical affinity and despite having access to all the schooling every child of the throne had, it had done him little good. Viktor had a feeling that Ivan would always resent his power.

“We’ll have a proper dinner tonight,” Ekaterina said. “I am sure your brothers will be in attendance. For now, how about you go unpack, bathe, and get comfortable?”

“I want to see him,” Viktor said meeting her eyes. She sighed heavily and squeezed his hands, nodding. 

Of course he would. 

“After you clean up,” she said looking at the state of his armor. “While Ivan has, sometimes, too much of a sense of appearances, you do  _ reek _ of travel. _ ” _

He winced and looked down at himself, “Right.”

Once he retrieved his bag and Vladimir had given his proper greetings to Ekaterina, they parted. Vladimir stayed in the knights quarters and was looking for the bath that was long due to him before looking for his husband. Viktor wished him luck in locating his love. Viktor had other plans.

While his boots remembered the way to his room, he forced himself to take the long route. The palace had not changed much but there were little things that he wanted to remember. Small things that would really make him feel as though he’d come home. 

His suite had been maintained, dust and swept. New books had been added to the shelves, the bed had been changed as well, but there was no mistaking that he was home. He set his bag down by the desk and walked through the open doorway to his bedroom. The clothes inside the wardrobes would be a bit too small, but with a few tailoring charms he would be okay until he could get new clothing. 

Beyond the wardrobe, was the rack of brooms. Of them all, one stuck out and he smiled, running his fingers over it’s carved handles. 

“I was more surprised that you didn’t take that one with you,” her voice, Aella Krum, came from behind him.

He turned and grinned seeing the old woman there. She’d aged little since the last time he’d seen her, that artful gray streak through her hair had not changed at all. Her eyes were warm and stern. 

“You look like hell,” she said and he laughed before walking towards her and enfolding her in his arms.

“Hello, Baba,” he said into her shoulder. “It is good to see you.”

“My little wing has flown home at last,” she said, reaching up to stroke his hair. “And is in desperate need of a bath.”

He chuckled, “I am working on it.”

She drew back, “Well please continue to do so.”

He held up his hands in surrender, “I’m going.”

The corridors leading up to the royal suites looked out to the courtyard and beyond to the mountains where Viktor had spent many days racing in between. It was closest to the library, not too far down from the pitch. He undressed and filled the tub to scrub himself clean. He couldn’t believe how much longer it felt since he’d last had a decent bath. On the battlefield, water was reserved for drinking or medicinal use, not bathing. 

He groaned as he sank beneath the hot water. He washed his hair and face, lavishing in the comfort of his own bathroom. The water turned murky and cold before he got out to shave his face. In the mirror was a face he hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked like his father and his grandfather before him with their dark eyes and sharp features. Full lips and kindness marked his features as belonging to the line rather than being a mere copy. His brothers had inherited little of the traditional Krum looks, taking after his mother’s side of the family.

He pushed a hand through his hair with a sigh. He considered cutting it, but decided to simply tie it back before walking into the closet. As he thought a lot of it didn’t fit, but he found something clean to wear and books that still fit before exiting the bathroom. 

“ _ Vitya, _ ” Aella gasped, not sure if she were speaking to her grandson or her husband’s ghost. “Goodness.”

He smiled and offered her his arm to escort her to his parent’s suite. They entered together and Viktor prepared himself to see his father for the first time in so long.

_ Years, _ he thought. It had been years.

“Father?” Viktor called. 

“In here, Vitya,” his mother called from their bedchamber.

“Is that Vitya with all the noise?” his father’s voice croaked. “I don’t remember them being that loud when  _ I _ came home.”

Viktor laughed and walked the distance to join his mother. Aella took the seat beside Ekaterina as Viktor took a seat at the edge of the bed where he could see the man’s face and be seen. He looked so tired, aged from the last time he saw his father’s face. Pale with sickness, he’d lost weight, but his eyes were as alert behind the pain as he remembered.

“I’m home,” he said softly. “ _ Tatko _ \--”

The man swatted him. Despite his apparent weakness, it was still hard enough to sting. Viktor flinched, not sure if the reprimand was meant to be harsher or not.

“The next time there is a war, you will not just run off to fight it,” he scolded. His voice was no more than a stern rasp, but it made Viktor smile. Stanislav took his youngest son’s hand, looking at him openly, admiring the view. 

“You have grown up well, Vitya. Perhaps now this old man can get a decent night’s sleep.”

“You’ll forgive me won’t you,  _ tatko? _ ”

He snorted and took Viktor’s hand to squeeze. “Perhaps, but your Baba will not, lest you bend to her and your mother’s will.”

Viktor winced and let his eyes slide to his mother, “What exactly is it that you wish of me?”

“Dear,” his mother began glaring at her husband. “Vitya has only just returned. Can we not give him a day to settle in?”

“My days are already short,” the man said. “It makes no sense not to give out warning while I still can.”

Stanislav winked at Viktor earning Ekaterina’s stern stare and Aella’s huff.

“What is it?” Viktor asked, amused at his parents’ antics. 

“We’re holding a ball,” she said. “In honor of the end of the war, your return and in hopes to see you all married soon.”

Viktor’s eyes widened in shock, a breath caught in his throat. 

_ Marriage? _

He couldn’t remember the last time he thought about marriage. He certainly hadn’t given it any thought before he went to war, let alone during. No, he’d been just a boy the last time marriage had crossed his mind, wondering if he would find a happiness like the happiness his parents and grandparents had shared.  Being the youngest of eight princes, there was never any anticipation of him needing to marry for politics or for heirs.

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked, hesitantly. “Is that not a concern for Ivan?” 

Ekaterina sighed, “Given the end of the war, people will be looking for hope a new age.”

The former four kingdoms, now three, would be looking to usher in the new found peace with a grand celebration. Given that they all had children that were eligible for marriage, it made sense that people would be expecting at least one marriage. 

Though Surtse has never had a real preference for class, his mother believed that marrying a mage of a high class, perhaps from another kingdom, would be a great show of peace and unity across the kingdoms. His brothers more or less had made up their list of preferences. The timing of the ball had centered around Viktor’s return. It would be a grand gesture of diplomacy. 

Viktor understood the why but not how they could ask this of him.

“You cannot expect me to meet someone at this ball and fall in love enough to  _ marry, _ ” Viktor said, incredulously. “I have not even figured out how much war has changed me, yet.”

Ekaterina winced, “Yes, I understand dear.”

Viktor sighed and took her hand with his free hand, “Tatko, what have you to say about this?”

“Vitya, you should feel no pressure to do anything that you do not wish. Surtse knows that you have done more than enough for all of wizarding kind.” He squeezed Viktor’s hand, “I wish only for you to be happy and to see my youngest son home and safe.”

Viktor smiled at that but looked back to his mother and grandmother. 

“Let’s leave your father to rest,” Ekaterina said, standing. “It is just about time for Madam Pomfrey to come see him.”

At the mentioning of her name, she knocked on the door with her cart. 

“Save me, Vitya,” Stanislav pleaded, his eyes twinkling. “She makes the most awful concoctions.”

Viktor smiled at his father’s humor. It was good to see that at least that had not died yet. There was hope still so long as his father could laugh. It meant the man had not fully given up and so Viktor could not either.

“I will come back. I think we have things to discuss, right? Your  _ Highness _ .”

Stanislav chuckled and released his hand. Viktor pressed a kiss to his forehead and followed his grandmother and mother to the adjoining room. He closed the door behind him and took a seat. 

It’s Ekaterina who starts first. The haste at which she lays out her reasoning and her expression tells him that she’d been waiting for this moment for far longer than could make him feel comfortable. He was an expert flyer, a high-class mage, a pureblood wizard, and the war hero of the kingdoms. His participation was vital for the people’s sake of course. 

No matter how battle torn he was inside, the people would look to him to say that it was truly over since he’d led the charge on Marvolo’s castle. There was also the matter of destroying the staff. He still had to figure out how to do so permanently in a ceremonial manner to commemorate the end of the war. The placement of the memorial of course was important and would need his presence.

The why was still as clear as it had been before, but  _ how _ could she ask this of him not even a few days into being home? Yes, Stanislav had brought it up but it was only to stave off Viktor being blindsided by his mother. He knew her well-- she would have waited maybe one full day before bringing it up if that.

“We’ve already contacted the heads of the other kingdoms and…”

Viktor groaned, he knew where this was going and stood up. She quieted as he did so. Their gaze met, a silent meeting of the minds, maybe.

She knew her Vitya from before the war. While they were not as close as he was to his father or to Aella, they were close. He wouldn’t deny her this. This Viktor who had grown over the years in the war was someone she still had to learn. 

Would he deny her? 

Would he be able to go through with it?

“Have you set a date?”

“No,” she said stiffly.

Viktor nodded and hummed. “Make your plans, mother and add the presentation and destruction of the staff of Salazar to the list of festivities. I would have the men and women who have died commemorated with all the honor due to them.”

She blinked and stammered, “You will do it? Truly?”

He nodded, his smile was sad. “It will be one last event for all of us, won’t it?”

Ekaterina paled but they all knew it was true. It warmed her heart to think that Viktor would put on a brave face not just for the kingdom for her as well, that he knew her so well. She couldn’t send the love of her life to the other side with tears, but with a ball so grand that the heavens would weep for their decision. 

Such was how much she loved him.

Such was how much Viktor loved them both.

“Let me know if you need anything from me,” Viktor said. 

“Thank you, Vitya,” she said and kissed his cheek. 

Madam Pomfrey came out looking just as grave as she had when she’d gone in. She left quickly with Ekaterina to speak about his father’s condition. Viktor didn’t look at his grandmother, instead stared out the window, wishing more than anything that he’d taken a little bit more time to fly before dealing with matters of war. 

He was the youngest son, he shouldn’t be dealing with any of this. 

_ At least that’s what Ivan thinks,  _ he snorted at the thought of his eldest brother.

“We will speak later, little wing,” Aella said, kissing his cheek. “For now, I believe your father needs to speak with you.”

He nodded and re-entered the bedchamber to take a seat at the end of the bed. Stanislav sat up in bed, supported by pillows and drinking water. He groaned in disgust. 

“There is not enough water to wash the taste away,” he groused and set the empty glass aside. He took one glance at Viktor’s face and let out another helpless groan.

“You agreed?”

Viktor chuckled, “I have worried them for years. It is the least I can do.”

Stanislav shook his head, “The ball was going to happen, but to have it so soon after your return--”

“She fears you will not make it,” Viktor said. 

Stanislav nodded, unable to disagree with that. “Whether I die before or not is of no consequence. She will be my regent and has my will.”

Viktor flinched at the word and Stanislav took his hand, “Do not look at me as if I am a ghost already, Vitya. I have some time before I join my father.”

Viktor worried his lip and squeezed his hand, “F-Forgive me, tatko. I should have been here--”

Stanislav hushed him, “Madam Pomfrey is the best healer of the kingdoms. If she can barely hold my sickness at bay while she searches her tomes for an answer, what hope could you have to help?”

Viktor’s jaw trembled and he closed his burning eyes. The tears came anyway. Stanislav drew him close, tangling a hand in his hair and pressing him close to his chest. 

Viktor was so large now, yet he felt just as he had when he was a boy, crying in pain and loneliness when his brothers would leave him behind or treat him too roughly. Viktor cried for him now oddly enough and it made his chest tighten painfully.

“There, there, dear Vitya, my little knight. It will be alright.”

Viktor clung to his father, yet the tears wouldn’t stop. He knew that all men died. He knew that. He’d seen it over and over again on the battlefield. He’d seen hundreds of deaths, hundreds of dead towns of bodies strewn everywhere. He’d dug hundreds of graves over the last few years. But this was his tatko. His father. He had fought so hard to make it home alive and end the war at last yet he would have so little time with this man who had been his idol for most of his life. 

“There are matters we must speak of unfortunately,” Stanislav said gravely, drawing back. 

Viktor’s face was splotchy red and flushed from crying. His shoulders trembled from sniffling as he stared at the man. Stanislav chuckled. 

“I will not disappear just yet, Vitya,” he said. “But before I do, you must know that I have chosen you as my heir.”

Viktor flinched and his eyes widened. 

Well, that wasn’t what he expected at all.

*

“Mum! Hermione’s here to visit!” George called. 

“Ronald, Hermione’s here!” Fred called with a grin. “Though she is looking in a certain form today. Are you here for a date? If so, I would leave now before you regret it.”

Hermione swatted Fred on the shoulder and kissed George’s cheek. “Now, now boys, you know I’m a busy woman, no time for dates. I only came to visit for a bit. Is Harry here?”

“Where  _ else _ would he be?” Fred chuckled. “Sirius is off on business.”

Hermione nodded, thinking as much. He heard Harry’s voice coming from the kitchen, glancing shyly over the mountain of potatoes he was peeling across from Ginny who smiled at him just as shyly.

Goodness, they were so cute, looking at each other like that. It was a wonder they weren’t already engaged with how long they’d fancied each other.  Harry spent most of his free time at the Weasley’s home, the Burrow. With it’s worn nooks and crannies and the constant smell of food, it was homey and much more welcoming than the Black Manor where he lived with Sirius and their makeshift little family. 

If Sirius was off on business again, it meant Lupin had gone with them. Tonks was probably still making her way back from war and young Teddy, Harry’s godson, was with Lupin’s family. 

“Hermione dear, don’t you look wonderful,” Molly greeted. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself a good apprenticeship I suppose.”

She chuckled, “Something like that. How are you today, Mrs. Weasley?”

She sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Other than the Malfoys being as they are, nothing much has changed here dear. Arthur’s off at court and Harry’s here helping out, he’s such a dear.”

Arthur arrived soon enough with a notice and an announcement. He pressed a kiss to Hermione and Ginny’s heads, shook hands with Harry, kissed his wife and called everyone into the foyer.

“What’s going on?” Ronald asked, slumping to the ground, exhausted and flushed from working outside. He looked over to Hermione in her new dress. “Er, hi, Hermione.”

“Hello Ronald,” she greeted kindly, before giving Arthur her attention. 

“By the order His Majesty King Stanislav Krum and Her Majesty Ekaterina Krum, a grand ball is to be held in the palace Surtse honoring the return the youngest prince from war, his deeds, and the official end of the war against Marvolo,” he read from the decree in his hand, his formal robes swishing around him. “It is the King, Queen, and Princes’ royal wishes that everyone in the kingdom attend if able. In addition to the ball, there will be a grand memorial service at the end of the world to honor those lost in the war.”

Ginny squealed, “A ball?! Really?!”

Hermione hummed. A ball for the entire kingdom. She considered the number of people in just Kula alone, let alone all of Surtse. It would be a great time to get Granger Enterprises back on the map.

“By royal command, every wizard and witch eligible for marriage in the kingdoms is to attend.”

Hermione snorted at the last bit. Hermione wondered which prince needed to be married off in light of the king’s illness. How desperate did they needed them married to make that sort of decree? Amused at the thought that the princes were all incredibly awkward or horrid, she chuckled.

“Well then, it seems we’ll have to tighten our belts,” Molly said. “Can’t have you going to meet the princes in a shoddy gown.”

Ginny blinked, a wince passing over her face as Molly pinched her cheeks and went on about being potentially chosen by one of the princes. Harry paled and looked to Fred and George who quickly escaped the room. 

Molly looked over to Hermione cautiously as Hermione took notes in one of the little notebooks she always seemed to have. Harry couldn’t understand Molly’s expression, but with her distracted, he could meet Ginny’s eyes. 

Terrified.

Pleading.

Her jaw trembled. He was pretty sure that he’d never seen Ginny so frightened, but knowing what he knew of court whispers about the princes who’d stayed behind, he could guess why she was so frightened. He worried his lip. 

Sirius and Remus were pretty stern about keep his last name to himself. Hermione was the only one who knew the truth. They’d been even more strict about it when he started hanging out with the Weasleys.

_ Molly is a lovely woman. She really is, _ Sirius told him.  _ She’s just more ambitious than I want you exposed to.  _

_ And a lot more desperate, _ Remus had chimed in.  _ Remember this much Harry. There are secrets even among wizards that a lot of people would die to protect. The Weasleys have just as many secrets as the Malfoys do. _

“And you, my dear? Will you be in attendance?” Molly asked Hermione.

Hermione shifted her weight and hummed, scribbling away in her notebook.

“I doubt I shall have the time for such a thing, besides I’m not technically eligible to be married to any of the princes, now am I?” she said, her eyes alight. “I should be off.”

Harry stood and followed her out quickly as Ginny cringed back from her mother’s gushing about what she would need to put Ginny in the perfect light to be chosen. Arthur winced and attempted to intervene, but was quickly overrun by Molly’s gushing. 

“We’ll have to get you an appointment with the beauty parlor in town. They’ll know just what to do.”

Ginny stammered, “B-But--”

“It may not be through your brothers the Weasley name ascends to where it was meant to be, but perhaps through you, Ginny. We’ll have to get you in marrying shape before the ball!”

*

“Hermione!” Harry called rushing after her. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could move. 

“Is this about Ginny?” Hermione asked, slowing down enough for him to catch up. “It can’t be anything else after listening to Molly.”

Harry stepped aside an old woman with a basket. Hermione avoided a young  man hauling a bag of flour as they walked.

“I,” Harry swallowed thickly. “I want to ask her to go with me.”

“I know,” she said. “What is it that you need?”

“A job.”

Hermione stopped and met his gaze, “A job.”

Harry nodded and glanced around, worrying his lips. “Sirius and Remus are--”

“Insistent.”

“Yes.”

“And you hope to do what with the money you earn?”

“Pay for Ginny and myself to go,” Harry said evenly. “I’ll do anything you need.”

Hermione tore a page out of her notebook and gave it to him, “Use this to find out exactly how much you’ll need to earn before the ball and then meet me at the Granger Estate tonight.”

Harry nodded quickly and took the page. He rushed off to get it done and Hermione shook her head before turning to pay for a newspaper from the stand. The ball would be after Harry’s seventeenth birthday on the fifteenth of August. 

_ Perfect _ , she thought and tucked it under her arm. It would all come together in due time. 

She added “ _ speak to Sirius and Remus about Harry _ ” to her list and continued down the road.

*

Arthur held his baby girl close to him by the fire that night as she wept frustrated tears. The last time he’d held Ginny as she sobbed had been when she was just a little girl waking up screaming from a nightmare. She felt just as small and fragile now as she had then.

“ _ She won’t listen, _ ” Ginny sobbed. “I don’t think she even cares!”

Arthur sighed and stroked her hair, “Shh, button. It’ll be alright.”

“A-And Harry-- Harry just left. He didn’t say anything! Chasing after Hermione…”

Arthur frowned. 

“Wh-what if he-- What if he doesn’t--”

Arthur pressed a finger to her lips to stop the thought. 

“Any person with or without eyes can see that Harry is head over heels for you, Ginny.”

“The-Then why?”

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t know sweetheart, but it does no good for either of you or your relationship to jump to conclusions.”

Ginny whimpered, turning her face into her father’s chest. He sighed. He never imagined that it would be Molly’s ambition that would make his headstrong daughter cave like this. When she’d been born, he’d hoped beyond hope that someone worthy of his daughter would catch her eye and whisk her away. Molly had wanted a daughter so badly, so desperate to raise the Weasley name from just technically noble to a lavish state since they married.  Her scheming and planning had paid off with Ginny’s birth, but had nearly destroyed their marriage in the process.

When they’d reached the tenuous truce they lived in now, he thought it would be over, but Molly hadn’t learned. Instead, she’d done everything in her power to groom Ginny into a young lady fitting court, but it just wasn’t in Ginny’s personality. She tussled with her brothers, she cursed and fought. She wanted to be a knight, not a kept housewife. With the war over, she wanted something other than the domestic life that Molly had built for herself as the Lady Weasley. 

“Do you resent us, Ginny?” He asked off-handedly. “Your mother and I?”

Ginny gasped, looking up at him. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I know you,” Arthur said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You think Charlie and Bill left the way they did for reasons I don’t know about? Percy? If not for you and Ronald, I am sure the twins would be gone as well.”

Ginny looked at her hands, “I-- I-- I just want to be  _ happy _ . I don’t want all that stuff that she talks about.”

Arthur nodded, “I know.”

“Would you give your blessing?” Ginny asked quietly. “If Harry ever or if a Prince…”

“I wouldn’t give my blessing to anyone you had not given yours to,” he said firmly. “I only want you to be happy, Button.”

Ginny smiled and hugged her father, finding such love and understanding in his embrace. She drew back quickly. The mention of her brothers who she had not seen in so long made her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to go to the Ball to be picked by a prince, but she would never pass a chance to see her brothers.

“Do you think Charlie and Bill will be there?”

“Possibly. I suppose I should write and ask.” Her jaw dropped and he gave her a wink, “Best not tell your mother.”

Ginny nodded and locked her pinky with his, “I promise.”

“There’s my girl. Now off to bed with you. There are long days ahead of us.”

She kissed his cheek and stood up leaving him sitting by the fire. Arthur leaned back, looking out the window and wondered how it was that he’d arrived here. He thought to Sirius, his distant cousin through the Black family, and could hear Molly’s tirade on him. 

_ If he was a good man, he’d help us! Yet Sirius only has polite words to give us, well I won’t have him set a foot in this door. _

He groaned and scrubbed his face. If Ronald hadn’t met Harry the way he did, he was sure that Ginny wouldn’t have met Harry every. Harry went to school with Draco at the premier wizarding academy in Surtse’s capital. His children all went to the academy two tiers below because they simply couldn’t afford it. 

Harry, in all of his kindness, had more or less rescued Ronald in a moment of great magical distress and they’d been friends ever since. With Harry came Sirius and Remus back into the life of the Weasleys. Sirius still wasn’t allowed in the Burrow, per Molly, but he and Arthur had a much better relationship than Molly believed. 

He sighed and thought to the empty chair in the Wizengamot that had always been beside the Black chair. Over the years, they thought that they would eventually remove it, that the letters would tarnish to something illegible, yet it hadn’t happened. The Potter seat still remained an ever-present memory of the late James and Lily Potter.

It was a mess. Everything was a mess and the ball would only make things messier for sure. 

*

Hermione arrived at the gravel road leading to the Granger Estate exactly five minutes before Harry came running towards her, flushed and harried. 

“Hermione!” He called and skidded to a halt before her. 

She smiled, impressed, “I expected you at least an hour from now. I’m impressed.”

He panted and bent to catch his breath, “I meant it.”

Hermione held out her hand, “The list?”

He held it out to her and fell into step beside her, “And this is with the use of Black carriages?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all. I didn’t include anything Sirius could help me with.”

She smirked and hummed.

“S-Should I have? I--”

“Calm down, Harry,” she said. “You’re fine.”

Harry followed her beyond the gate, his stomach tumbling as she read over the list and led him up the road. He looked around realizing that the driveway up to the house had been fixed recently. It looked like it did before she went to go live at the Malfoy Manor. 

Flowers bloomed in a melody of colors along the pathway. Hermione opened the front door and stopped in the doorway. 

“What’s wrong?”

She chuckled and stepped aside so he could see the piles of mail, “Nothing. Just a lot of mail.”

Harry’s eyes widened. There were too many envelopes to count, littering the foyer floor from where owls had dropped them off through the mail slot. 

“Well Harry,” she said pulling out her wand and waving it wordlessly. The letters lifted off the floor and arranged themselves in several neat stacks hovering by the door. “Do come in.”

“You’re a witch?” Harry asked. “Since when?!”

“We have a lot to speak about Harry,” she said. “And I don’t think that we’ll cover it all standing on the porch.”

He flushed and shuffled in ahead of her, in awe. She toed off her shoes and let her hair down before leading him through the house. The letters followed close behind towards the office. He remembered that it had once been her parents’ study. The two desks had been combined into one large one. She set the letters on one side of it and took a seat. 

“Have you eaten?” Hermione asked. 

“No, I, erm, didn’t get a chance.”

“Well, then I guess you’re staying for dinner,” Hermione said. “Come on.”

Harry followed after her wondering what exactly they had to talk about, what she would ask of him. They’d known each other for a long time and while he had a pretty good grasp of what Hermione was like as a person, there were a lot of things that he didn’t know about her.

Like that fact that she was a witch.

“Curious?” Hermione asked, flicking her wand so that a knife came flying out of the knife block and began to chop whatever floated onto the chopping board.

“Very,” he said.

Hermione smiled and gestured to the chair across from her, “Sit. A bit of a chat before business.”

Harry sat down as she asked and watched a pitcher pour them both glasses of icy water. She stayed perfectly still as the kitchen came alive with the makings of dinner. 

“I’ve been a witch all my life, Harry,” she said. “My parents thought it best to keep it hidden since it isn’t really heard of that two muggles have a witch for a child.”

He swallowed. Both of her parents were  _ muggles? _

“They had me privately tutored by Mage Minerva McGonagall. You’ve met her.”

“Your family’s  _ accountant _ ?” He asked. “Isn’t she a master of transfiguration?”

“She is,” she assured. 

But Minerva came with more connections than just her own knowledge. She’d been tutored by a lot of people in Minerva’s extensive network including Severus Snape. Severus probably didn’t connect the young girl he’d tutored for several years with the Hermione who’d handed over stacks of paperwork, but she remembered him well.

“But you can understand why I can’t exactly  _ publicize _ this, don’t you?”

Harry nodded. The Wizengamot would swoop down on her faster than a flight of owls if they found out before she had her wizarding license, regardless of her age. There was no telling what they would do to her. He didn’t understand all the laws regarding magic, but he knew that she would definitely be interrogated about the origin of her magic and held with great suspicion. In the history of wizarding births, there hadn’t been a single muggle born witch or wizard that hadn’t been born of horrible circumstances since the Blood Wars.

“What about the Malfoys?” Harry asked. “Won’t they hold it over your head?”

“And incriminate themselves for housing an underage, unregistered witch in their house?” Hermione asked. “I think Narcissa has other things to worry about, especially since I am registered now that I’m seventeen.”

“Wait--” Harry said. “You only  _ just _ got a wand? How have you been doing magic all this time?”

“Wandless,” she said with a shrug.

Harry gawked at her. At a loss for what else to say, he could only stare. 

“You’re incredible.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you think so. Anything else I should clarify before we get to business?”

“What about school?” Harry asked. “Where do you go?”

“The public academy,” she said easily. “I’m an orphan with no caretaker remember?”

He winced, “Right. Sorry.”

“No need to be,” Hermione said. “I know you meant nothing by it.”

Harry frowned, “I can’t do wandless magic yet. That’s bonkers.”

Hermione shrugged, “Just another day in the life, dear Harry.”

In reality, it had been a matter of necessity from the first moment that her parents realized that she  _ had _ magic. She had to keep it underwraps for as long as possible. Surtse was a good kingdom, kinder to muggles and half-bloods than most, but that didn’t make them perfect. Given that her mother was actually from Espirit, there could have been issues. Issues she narrowly avoided by registering only when she’d turned seventeen.

Espirit or Surtse could have claimed her as a ward of the kingdom if she were underage. She would have never seen her parents again and may not have survived this long. Being in a wizarding house had almost been a blessing as much as it had been a curse.

He blew out a breath, “Wow. I feel like there are so many things that I don’t know about you. Wait-- can you apparate?”

“I can.”

“With a  _ practice _ wand?”

Hermione nodded. “It took a little bit of time to work it out, but I figured it out.”

“Hermione,” he said. “What could you possibly need me for? I’m about to graduate, I have an actual wand and I s _ till _ can’t Apparate.”

Hermione chuckled, “You think I can revive Granger Enterprises and expand it with no name, no backing, and no connections on my own?”

Harry frowned at her smirk. She waited patiently. Harry was honest, harmless. He really had very little knowledge or disposition for deceit, but he wasn’t stupid.

“This is about my seventeenth.”

“It’s before the ball,” she said, tilting her head. “You think Sirius will keep you underwraps past the time you’ll be of age?”

“No.”

Hermione’s eyebrows lifted encouragingly and Harry frowned.

“But how could you know that?”

“Harry, I’ve known who you were since we met,” Hermione said. 

“I meant about Sirius and Remus’s plan for my seventeenth.”

“You asked me for economics help,” she said. “Trade agreements, management, estate taxes, last year, remember?”

He nodded, “Yeah, you were doing Draco’s homework.”

He frowned thinking back to that moment. There had been magic runes on those pages before her. Why hadn’t he asked her then? How was it that he didn’t draw the pieces together before?

“You wouldn’t have struggled with problems from the school, Harry. Not living with Sirius all your life.”

Harry huffed and he sat back as a plate and silverware settled themselves in front of him. 

“How is it that I didn’t think about that until now?”

“Memory charm,” she said easily. “It’s one I casted on all of Draco’s homework just in case someone saw me doing it.”

“You are scary.”

“Thank you.” She said and gestured to the pots and pans that had floated between them. “Help yourself.”

Harry swallowed, “I’m still not sure what I can do for you.”

Hermione smirked, “Well, Harry, I can think of quite a few things that will have you wondering why you were worried about affording you and Ginny’s trip to the ball starting with getting me a few things for the garden.”

Harry frowned and he choked on a laugh. 

_ That’s right. _

Most people thought she was muggle. Any wizard in Surtse who sold magical items wouldn’t let her in the shop until she had her wizarding license. She needed a wizard to buy things. She might also need him for magic work, but she mostly needed his presence. 

Merlin, Hermione was terrifyingly brilliant.


	6. Demons & Knights

“Hello, peasant,” Draco’s voice drifted down from above her.

She adjusted her hat and looked up at him on his horse, a brood mare almost as blonde as he was. The scent of the sea eased the tension between her shoulders and made her smile despite his sneer.

“So, you’re back to following me?”

He sneered, “I would have you know that I am here on official Malfoy business.”

She nodded, “Well by all means, continue on.”

“You would think rabble like you would know when you’re beaten,” Draco said chuckling with his companion. “Malfoys always get what they want.”

Hermione snorted at that and shook her head as they rode on. Malfoys  _ thought _ they always got what they want. She knew as she’d put the pieces of her entrance to the Malfoy house and so many other things in her life, that Narcissa was beginning to realize how far ahead William had planned.

How much her parents truly loved her.

“Hermione!”

Harry came to join her, brushing the dust off his robes and adjusting his glasses. 

“Well?” Hermione asked, her eyes still looking out to sea.

“I have it,” Harry said, opening his bag. She peered in and checked the packages with a smile. “And for a steal.”

“You brilliant angel,” Hermione said and locked arms with him. “Let us be onwards towards the docks. They should be here soon.”

He nodded and looked down the way. Draco dismounted to meet a captain on the ship down the way. They spoke briefly before the captain put cargo on the small cart that he’d brought with him. 

“Isn’t that Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“It is,” Hermione said, facing the pier and waving to the boat that was coming into port. “Blue flares, please Harry?”

He sent them up from the edge of his wand. The ship sent up a volley of blue flares in response.

“Now, here’s the fun part,” Hermione said, standing beside him and pointing to the bow. “Aim for the mast and produce the anchoring charm I showed you.”

He worried his lip but focused and flicked his wand the way she’d taught him. A thin line of silver shot out, attaching to the stern of the boat. From the stern of the boat, a golden thread shot out and attached itself to the pier and slowly the large boat drifted towards them.

“What now?” Harry asked.

“Tie the anchor off here,” she said patting the large pole beside her. 

He did as she asked as the boat docked. The ramp sprang out from the side of the boat and the captain came down. 

“By the heavens, I thought your mother had risen to greet us!” The large man chuckled lifting her from the ground in a warm hug. “I see she passed on more than just her brains to you, little Hermione. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in one of my sons, would you?”

She glowered at him and he chuckled. “Fine! Fine! Onto business.”

She checked his log books as his crew began to unload. Harry watched the pile grow and grow and wondered if Brego would be okay with the load. 

_ Probably not… _

“As always, excellent!” Hermione said and handed over a satchel of coins. “Thank you, good sir. Will you be back before the ball?”

“Of course, my sons are all coming. Speaking of--”

“Well then, I’ll see you all then!” Hermione said hurriedly, shaking his hand before he could get started. 

He tossed his head back and laughed before squeezing her tightly. She turned to Harry and got him to levitate the parcels onto the cart attached to Brego. 

“Erm, Hermione, won’t this be a bit heavy?” Harry asked. 

“Nonsense Harry,” she said. “Brego is half bahuvrihis.”

“Er, what’s that?”

“It’s a species of magical creature that much resemble horses capable of pulling immense loads.” Hermione said and pet Brego. “The cart is goblin made. It won’t break.”

Harry shrugged and loaded it up carefully. She threw ties over the top and secured them before taking Brego’s reigns and leading him away from the docks and back into town. 

“What is all of this?” Harry asked as they walked. 

“Supplies, dear Harry.” She said. “You think I fulfill all those orders without supplies?”

Harry wasn’t really sure what orders she was talking about, but suspected that it had something to do with all the letters she’d gotten the night they struck their deal. They made a stop at a few other places, both muggle and wizarding until they had gotten through her list for the day and headed to the Granger Estate.

When they arrived, she led Brego through the gate and helped levitate everything behind the house. 

“So, what now?”

“Now?” Hermione said. “You should probably get out of your robes unless you like the idea of perhaps fainting from the heat.”

*

“What is it that you’re trying to say, Severus?” Narcissa grit out.

Severus gave her an unamused look, “At the rate Miss Granger makes payments, she will have the debt paid off three to four months before it is legally due.”

“HOW?!” Narcissa hissed. “Let me see!”

Severus gave her the books and waited. No matter how long she stared at the pages, the numbers wouldn’t change and he dared her to ask if he was sure about his calculations considering his years of experience.

“How is this possible Severus? The little bint is only seventeen! Where could she be getting this kind of money?”

_ The little tramp, _ Narcissa thought viciously.

Even if she was whoring herself out, which Narcissa doubted that she was, she wouldn’t have enough clientele so quickly to make payments like this. Narcissa had made sure to get Draco to blacklist her from as many high ranking wizards for tutoring as possible. She was barely seventeen and didn’t have the training to get a real wand yet, let alone a wizarding license. This should have been impossible.

“How? How? How?!”

“That would be a question for her accountant, Mage McGonagall, Narcissa. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

She practically threw the book back at him and Severus took it as a firm dismissal. 

“This cannot happen,” Narcissa growled. 

The paltry amount that Hermione owed was nothing compared to what Narcissa needed to settle all of the debts that breathed down their necks. Lucius had been as efficient at being cruel as he had been spending and mismanaging money. The Granger Estate would have been enough to settle the debts and more. 

William Granger was a muggle and his wife had been too, but they were shrewd business people.

“Mother?” Draco called into the study and entered at her response. “There’s been a decree in court.”

“Oh?” Narcissa asked, “About what?”

“The king and queen will be hosting a ball to commemorate the end of the war. Every witch and wizard eligible for marriage is to attend.”

“What?” Narcissa asked, holding out her hand for the decree he carried. 

She’d worried when she had to relinquish the Malfoy seat to Draco upon his seventeenth birthday, but felt a bit of hope rise in her chest as she read the decree.  A gathering of all the magical kingdoms? It was bound to be a large affair, bound to an opportunity of a lifetime. Honoring the youngest prince back from war as a hero and a memorial service the day after? 

“We have to keep her from this ball,” Narcissa said. 

_ And they had to put Malfoy Enterprises in the best light possible. _

Granger Enterprises had fallen little under McGonagall’s watchful eye. With Hermione now old enough to be announced as the official heir and probably  _ running  _ Granger Enterprises again, this ball could ruin the whole plan.

_ Curse that bint, _ she thought. Hermione had known those three years in the Malfoy house, slaving away what was waiting for her at the end. She’d known all this time.

If only Narcissa had known--

_ It doesn’t matter. Focus on the problem at hand.  _

If Granger Enterprises was the source of Hermione’s capital, if she ran the company the same way that her father did, she only took a small percentage of profits. William had settled on five percent of any orders and contracts he personally fulfilled in order to take care of the needs of his family and do whatever it was that he wanted. The rest of the profits remained in the business in the form of investments and liquid galleons.

Given that Hermione was more than likely following in her father’s footsteps, it meant that the money was coming from the same source. The payments had fluctuated in the amount per Snape’s records. The last was the largest payment Hermione had ever made, meaning that she’d had a few new contracts come in.

Narcissa’s only hope was to keep those contracts from growing. She had to keep Hermione from the ball at all costs. The girl had the charm of her mother’s people on her side and her father’s head for business. There weren’t many people in the magical and muggle kingdoms who hadn’t at least heard the name Granger.

Narcissa turned to the bookshelf and looked for her warding book. She had time to perfect it, to get it right, to make something that even Hermione wouldn’t be able to get out of and devise a way to get her into it.

*

Minerva looked over the pages that Hermione brought with her, those that would be fulfilled first as Hermione sat on the low couch and sorted through another stack. It had only been a week since the ball’s announcement and the mail had kept coming in. Hermione was busy all day, every day and long into the night even with Harry’s help. She’d rebuilt the greenhouse and started replanting the fields for more than just what she needed to survive with great success. From what Minerva could glean from the pages, Hermione had re outfitted and expanded the greenhouse on the estate, replaced a few pieces of equipment in the company and done a lot of visiting of the Granger Enterprise outposts.

“Good heavens, my dear!” Minerva said looking at the most recent reconciliation from Severus. “How have you been making such payments?”

Hermione chuckled, “You don’t think I just read all day on my days off do you?”

Minerva gawked at her. 

“I polish boots, shine and maintain swords, work tables, meet with clients, work the fields, sell produce, fix things,” she started, going on to detail the way she spent her weekends. “There’s also the matter of my mother’s beauty recipes.”

“What?”

“The exclusive contract my mother had with Essence Care?” Hermione said. “It’s separate from Granger Enterprises.”

Minerva nodded, remembering the file, remembering that she’d handed it over to Hermione on the day the woman had laid out her plan to get her debt paid as a part of her inheritance.

“Yes of course dear, but I wasn’t aware that you had the recipes. Let alone the ingredients.”

_ Or the time, _ she thought incredulously. 

Hermione smiled and tugged the necklace from around her neck, “A gift from my mother.”

Minerva gawked, “My dear a  _ Time-Turner _ is serious-- How did you-- How did she?”

“I don’t think she knew what it was,” Hermione said. “I didn’t until I saw it in a book from school. She told me that the women of her family passed it down since it came into the family.”

Minerva worried her lip. A muggle family being in possession of a magical artifact of that caliber was unlikely. It could have been a counterfeit from the earlier days of the war, or it could have been real. 

“How often do you use it?”

“Oh not at all!” Hermione sputtered. “I’m not so desperate to fiddle around with time magic  _ and _ apparation after all.”

Minerva wasn’t sure if she should ask anymore questions given that every answer Hermione gave her seemed to put her closer and closer to a heart attack.

Hermione gave the Time-Turner a small smile, “It feels like she’s with me when I think of it and it makes me keep going.”

“Well, my dear, I suppose that so long as you are safe and you’re confident that you can deliver on all of this.”

Hermione smiled, “I am.”

Something chimed and she perked up, at the tone. “It’s time for me to get going.”

Hermione packed up and stood at the edge of Minerva’s desk, “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Not at the moment,” Minerva said. “Just be careful.”

Hermione nodded, “I swear it.”

*

Viktor pressed his back to the wall and slowed his breathing. He had to get out before someone else accosted him. He’d forgotten how dizzying and how  _ taxing _ life in the palace could be while away at war. 

Since the ball was announced, someone had come to his chambers to retrieve him early every morning and kept him hostage throughout the day. He ate his meals with his siblings and his father when he got the chance, but most of the day was spent enduring Ekaterina and Aella’s stringent etiquette training. 

_ There isn’t much time before the ball, we have to be sure that you can at least dance a decent waltz! _

He wept at the thought. 

Today, he was going to get out of the palace and far away from it. He deserved it. 

“ _ Your Highness? _ ” Someone called as he slipped down the hall, unnoticed and unseen. He remained in the shadows, careful to keep his footsteps quiet across the floors. If only he was able to do magic inside the palace, none of this would be a problem, but the old castle was warded against all manner of spellwork in the palace that wasn’t medical in nature and in certain areas. 

“Your Highness?”

He tensed and took off running from the sound of the guard.

“Your Highness!?!”

He took off running towards the open balcony. 

“Vitya?” Aella asked as he rushed past. 

“Just one day!” Viktor yelled over his shoulder and took a running leap over the edge of the balcony. 

Ekaterina shrieked, “Vitya!”

He pulled his broom beneath him and twisted in the air to catch the current that would take him away from the palace and his mother yelling after him. 

“Vitya!!”

He laughed, looking over his shoulder at the balcony before taking the currents towards the forest and the mountains that surrounded Kula. The trees seemed to glow in the early dawn light as he laughed into the wind and pressed his broom to go faster. It’s lovely and perfect. The longer he remained in the air among the winds and clouds, the more relaxed he grew. 

His mind eased and it was almost like he hadn’t gone to war at all. He slowed his flying and descended towards the tops of the trees, drifting towards the sound of a waterfall. 

There on the banks was a woman, dressed in a rough tunic and pants, kneeling in the shadows with a bow aimed into the trees. Her face was covered and her hair was braided back. She let the arrow fly and he heard the sound of it striking its target and the thud of the body on the ground. 

She moved through the brush and stepped onto the banks of the pool around the waterfall. Viktor froze as she spun, kneeled, strung another arrow and fired. He yelped and flew out of the brush, narrowly dodging the arrow.

“Who goes?” She asked, aiming another arrow at him. 

“Someone who means you no--” He frowned and dismounted his broom. “Have we met?”

She lowered the bow slowly and stood from her position and approached him. Her eyes were a deep brown, intelligent, and searching. 

“Sir Knight?” She asked, that warm voice washing over him and making him smile. 

“It is you, madame,” he said with a small bow. “I thought for sure that I would never see you again, madam siren.”

“Siren?” She asked with a snort and walked beyond the tree line to grab her kill. He strapped his broom to his back and followed her. 

“Your voice, madame,” he said. “I am sure there is a touch of magic there, unlike normal witches.”

“You flatter me,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I have no knowledge of such things.”

Viktor hummed and stopped beside her as she kneeled to gather her kill. Her gloved hands worked quickly and efficiently to pull out the arrow and prepare the large beast for transport.

“You are an impressive shot.” Viktor said. “Are you heading to market? Have you a horse?”

She snorted and roped her kill up to drag.

“No.”

“Let me--”

“No,” she said plainly. “My kill, my carry.”

He huffed, “You are not one for chivalry.”

She laughed, her head tilted back and her eyes gleeful, “Of course I am. I simply have no need for it at the moment. Rules of a hunter.”

“At least let me take you to market,” he said. “It’s a long way to town.”

“On… your broom?” She asked eyeing it on his back. 

“Well, yes. Have you never flown before?”

“No,” she said. 

Viktor grinned and pulled his broom off his back and set it to float, “Get on.”

“Are you sure about this? I mean it is a broom.”

“You are a witch, aren’t you?” He teased. “You apparate without fear but not fly?”

“It’s completely different,” she defended. 

Viktor lifted his eyebrows and waited for her to explain her reasoning. She huffed.

“On my honor,” Viktor said. “I will get you there safely.”

She sighed but nodded approaching it warily. Viktor set her to float and anchored it to the broom before taking her hand and helping her mount the broom. It wavered and she squeaked. 

“Easy,” he said. “It’s okay.”

She gripped the broom tightly and leaned back only to let him mount in front of her. 

“Hold on,” he said and felt her arms wrap around his waist tightly. He smiled and guided the broom into the air and beyond the canopy of trees. 

“Please don’t do anything crazy.”

“I promise,” Viktor said. “Tell me, where are you from?”

“Surtse,” she said into his shoulder. “A-And you?”

“Surtse,” he said. “Have you not taken your mage examinations yet?”

“I don’t even have my wizarding license yet.”

His eyebrows drifted up, “What?”

The broom wavered and she shrieked, squeezing tighter.

“Sir Knight!”

“Forgive me, but I am shocked. You have such power.”

“I haven’t been able to go through training until recently. I’m still using a practicing license.”

“You’re still in school,” he said. “If the war was still going on, you would have been hurried through training because of your power.”

“I know.”

Viktor swallowed, “Well, what is it that you do? Are you a hunter by trade?”

“Among other things.”

Viktor frowned, “I take it that you are hesitant to speak with me for a reason.”

“You do have me hostage on a broom at a height that could kill me easily.”

Viktor chuckled, “So when we get to the ground, we can have a conversation?”

“I’ll definitely be more open to it.”

Viktor laughed at that. When they landed in town, she wobbled on her feet and thanked him. Viktor invites himself along to the market where she makes the sale. They pass a ball proclamation. 

“Are you going to the ball?”

“I am told that every eligible person is required to attend.”

Viktor frowned at her choice of words, “Have I offended you, madame?”

She shifted her weight as if to think and spun around to regard him. 

“What is your interest in me, good sir?” She asked.

“What is any man’s interest in a beautiful woman?” He asked seriously.

She flinched, her eyes widening in apparent shock. What could she have been shocked by? 

“You have no idea what I look like?”

“I am a wizard,” Viktor said. “Appearances mean very little to me.”

Her brow furrowed and he smiled, “I take it I am not handsome in your eyes.”

She snorted, “I hardly think my opinion of your appearance means much. After all, you seem to be a man aware of his worth.”

Viktor smiled, “Is that so?”

“It is.” She turned to walk out of the market with the satchel of coins secured in a pocket on her belt. They stopped to buy food before walking back towards the forest and away from town. 

“What is it that you do in the forest?” Viktor asked. 

“Practice magic,” she said. “I need the privacy.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all.”

Viktor took a seat on a large rock in the clearing that she selected and watched. She stretched towards the sky and ate as she paced the clearing. Eventually she took off her boots and dug her feet into the dry earth. 

“Are you preparing for an exam?” Viktor asked.

“Growth spells,” she said. “Resurrecting dead earth is something that I struggle with.”

“Would you like help?”

She turned and Viktor’s heart tripped. That look in her eye was telling. 

_ Ah,  _ Viktor thought, he smirked. 

This witch’s heart was in her head. He stood and pulled off his shoes. He approached her  and bade her to sit down. She met his gaze and he smiled at her.

“Let’s start from the beginning.”

*

Hermione wandered home in disbelief, but with a whole new understanding of magic and the knight she’d met. 

_ Viktor, _ she thought with a smile.  _ Viktor. _

She shook her head.

_ Focus, Hermione, _ she thought. 

He taught her stuff, yes. That wasn’t a reason to get all gooey eyed. She had things to do. She had contracts to secure, plants to grown, potions to brew, tests to take and--

_ Save me a dance,  _ he’d said and kissed her gloved hand. 

“Stop it!” she cried throwing up her hand and marched into her office to get some work done.

When she found herself daydreaming and growing flowers in the small pot of dry earth on her desk, she gave up and went to the greenhouse to start production on hair potions for Essence Hair Care.

“Hermione?”

She turned to see Harry there. Was it that time already? She looked to the bottles of potion on the table. She’d bottled them all in a daze it seemed. 

“Come on in Harry, help me cork these?”

Harry asked her something as he set to work and she knew that Viktor had done exactly what he’d set out to do when approaching her in the forest.

Even more troubling was that she liked it. 


	7. Have Courage And Be Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is hard to be kind to someone who thinks so low of your heritage, but Hermione will try anyway.

Hermione was a patient woman. 

She kept her joy bottled up, tucked and rolled beneath the neatly pressed folds of her gown as she smiled politely and shook the man’s hand. She carried her briefcase out the door and mounted Brego, side saddle to be proper before leading him away from the building. When she was far enough away, she screamed up to the sky. 

She’d nailed it.

She went to Minerva’s office first, dismounting and tying Brego to the post with a kiss to the nose before rushing into the office. 

“Mage McGonagall?!” She called excitedly.

The woman looked up from her desk, surprised to see Hermione in such a state. It wasn’t her dress, but her excitement.

“What has you in such a tizzy, my dear?”

“I got it! I’ve secured the contract. Granger Enterprises is now the primary textile merchant for Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions in Hogwarts!”

She offered Minerva the paperwork who looked over it with her eyes widened. There was nothing out of place and if memory served her properly, the deal was far more favorable than it had been before. 

“My dear, how did you manage this? The Malfoys have been itching to swipe this contract for years.”

Hermione grinned, “A little charm, a little kindness, and a lot of negotiating.”

She took a seat, “What do you think? I figure another boat might have to be acquired and that I should take a trip to the factories for a maintenance check and…”

Minerva listened, taking notes as Hermione rambled through her mental list. She pulled out her notebook to add to the list as things came up and Minerva made suggestions. They talked about the host of letters that had arrived at the estate requesting things from Granger Enterprises and how far Hermione had gotten in dealing with the orders. 

*

She’d wanted to share her success with Harry and went to the Weasley’s house to find him. There were men in dark clothing hauling things onto the street. Molly’s face was flushed red in shame and everyone looked particularly morose.

Ginny looked pale as their things started falling from the second floor window. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked frowning. 

Ginny sniffled and went to her, burying her face hin Hermione’s chest and weeping pitifully. Hermione squeezed her close and looked across the family that seemed at a loss for words. 

“We-We’ll be okay,” Molly said. “There’s always--”

Hermione frowned as the woman broke off and went pale. Arthur looked grim. 

“Yes, I believe you know where that train of thought should end.”

“Surely--”

Their eyes met and Molly swallowed the words before pulling out her old wand and flicking her wand. Nothing moved. 

“What--”

“These things are being repossessed,” one of the men said. “To pay off your back rent. When everything is settled, then you’ll be allowed to take what’s left.”

His partner sneered, “Though I wouldn’t get my hopes up of having anything left.”

Hermione turned Ginny from her arms as Harry came, shocked at the sight of them outside.

“What’s going on?”

“Arthur.”

They looked up to see Sirius on horseback. 

“Hello Sirius.”

Molly grit her teeth and Hermione wondered what exactly transpired between them that their obvious salvation wasn’t an option. Sirius was a good man and would have easily and happily settled their debt. 

_ Pride, _ Hermione thought, shaking her head. It was always first before ruin. 

“At the very least let us--”

“Orders,” the man barked. “Lest you’d rather be thrown in debtors prison?”

It seemed forever before the men had tallied up everything of worth among their belongings including any money stashed in the trinkets and small banks the kids had from working their jobs. Ginny only sobbed when they brought out her things. Among her possessions was a small jewelry box that Harry had brought her back from traveling. 

Harry stepped in then lifting it from the box and glaring at the men. 

“Hey--”

“You have no legal right to exact payment against wizarding  _ minors. _ ” Harry said. 

The man hissed, “And who are you a lawyer?”

“Someone who won’t hesitate to report you for illegal practices.”

He flinched back. 

“Ginny, grab your things out of the house. All of it.”

She hesitated for a moment, but when Hermione gave her a nudge, she moved grabbing the smallest trunk and going into the house with Harry. She went to her room to collect her things. She didn’t have much, mostly just things that Harry or Hermione had given her over the years from travels or the market.  It amounted to just a small box and a trunk of clothing. The two men made sure to check it all for anything that should belong firmly in the Malfoy’s grasp before letting her go. 

“Th-thank you, Harry,” Ginny said softly.

He nodded. When the men were finished they gave Arthur the bill and carted everything away. The Burrow was locked and the business shut down, repossessed by the Malfoys, their debt collectors.

They left them standing there and Sirius remained watching on. He looked to Hermione and shook his head with a sigh. 

“We’ll find work,” Molly said. “We always do.”

“Mum, how much is it?” George asked.

“And how is it that they took all of our stuff too?” Fred asked. 

“You live in the house,” Harry said, turning to look at Molly and Arthur. “And you’re of age, by wizarding standards that makes you a legal tenant.”

Fred snorted, “Well, that sucks.”

“Are you alright, Gin’?” George asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded shakily, “I’ll be okay. Wh-What do we do now?”

“I’m sure the Paddingtons will let us stay with them a while,” Molly said. “Until we can figure out something.”

“Yeah, except you ticked off Mrs. Paddington,” Fred quipped. 

“That was just a misunderstanding.”

“She  _ hexed _ me,” George pointed out. “Hardly a misunderstanding.”

Harry opened his mouth but Sirius shook his head. He gave his godfather a distressed look but Hermione shook her head as well. The Weasleys’ problems weren’t solved if Molly kept going the way she was. All of the arrogance of the Malfoys without the money to back it up. She’d made an enemy of most of the wizarding and muggle community. It had been part of the reason that the shop just hadn’t been doing as well, no matter how well Molly cooked.

Hermione crossed her arms. 

“Well, then we go to the shelter for now.”

“It’s all booked up,” Harry pointed out. “Since the war ended. Every pureblood family has put their extra tenants out.”

Molly grit her teeth and Arthur sighed. 

“I have a proposition,” Hermione said. “If you’re willing to hear me.”

Molly sighed, “And what is that?”

Hermione smirked. “You could work for Granger Enterprises.”

Sirius’s eyebrows drifted up, interested. 

“What?” Ronald asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I have it on good authority that Granger Enterprises is hiring. Field hands, basic staff, that sort of thing.”

“A muggle company?” Molly asked. “ How are we supposed to make a wizarding living off that?”

“As opposed to…” Hermione asked plainly and Molly’s expression turned indignant. “Perhaps if you proved yourself capable a more wizarding capacity could be arranged, but I’m only offering once.”

She turned to Ginny, “Since you’re a minor Ginny, you’re welcome to stay with me, if you’d like.”

Ginny blinked, confused, but Molly flushed. 

“Well, that just isn’t up to her--”

“It will be as soon as it hits the royal records that you all are unemployed and without shelter.” Hermione said plainly. 

Molly paled and Ginny looked to her father. Hermione knew that it wasn’t Arthur really. He was a simple man with simple pleasure, married to a woman with ideas of grandeur. It wasn’t that the Weasley family didn’t have the potential to be great, it was simply that they never would be if Molly didn’t come to terms with the reality: they would never be the Black family, nor the Potters, nor the Malfoys. 

Still, their pureblood status and Arthur’s position on the Wizengamot did give them a certain in to the wizarding world that Hermione could use, but there were plenty of wizarding families that needed what she offered. 

_ Be kind, _ her mother’s words whispered at the back of her mind. 

“We will consider it,” Molly said.

“Wonderful, just stop by Mage McGonagall’s office.” She looked at Fred, George and Ron. “Whenever you please. Harry if you would help Ginny with her things?”

Harry didn’t hesitate, lifting them from Ginny’s arms and escorting her into following Hermione down the road. She heard the couple following her and was glad that Ginny at least had the sense to do so. 

She wasn’t sure if she would be able to handle Harry worrying about his beloved either wise. 

Sirius followed along on horseback behind them. When they arrived at Granger Estate, she escorted Harry and Ginny upstairs to her old bedroom. It was the second biggest in the house and would do well for Ginny. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Ginny said. “But won’t the owner of the estate be upset?”

“I think I’ll let Harry answer that question,” she said with an amused smile. “In the meantime, I’m going to talk shop with Sirius. Dinner is a six.”

Harry watched her leave and set Ginny’s trunk down at the foot of the bed. Harry found himself with his arms full of Ginny when he turned towards her.

“S-She’s lying,” Ginny stammered. “I know she is.”

“Hermione?”

“No, my mother,” Ginny stressed. “I don’t know why or by how much, but I know she is. The Malfoys didn’t just up and cancel the contract.”

Harry sank down on the dressing bench and held her hands. 

“Ginny,” Harry said. “Will you stay here until you’re old enough?”

Ginny frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It means that I want you safe,” Harry said. “Hermione will take care of you.”

“Hermione?”

“She’s the Granger heir,” Harry said. “Just don’t tell anyone about it.”

Her eyes widened, “You must be joking.”

Harry shook his head, “There are a lot of things that I can’t tell you right now, but believe me when I say she will look after you until you’re old enough.”

“An-and then what?”

Harry met her gaze and Ginny gasped. He wondered if she could feel his intent though he could not say it, even in the Granger estate. Ginny pulled her hands free. 

“My mother will be against it.”

“Does that bother you?” Harry asked. She turned. 

“I just,” Ginny huffed. “I don’t know. She’s my mother and I love her.”

She choked, “ _ The ball. _ ”

Harry stood and took her hands again, “Don’t worry about that right now. You have gone through a lot today, just take it easy.”

Ginny glanced up at him, “M-My brothers will be there. I haven’t seen them in years. I was so excited.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “Charlie? Bill? Percy?”

She nodded and Harry grimaced. He knew how much she missed them, that she would write to them whenever she could scrape together the money for extra parchment and ink. Harry swallowed the words, the truth, that would set all this right. He wanted so badly to tell her that she need not worry. 

“Come on,” Harry said. “It’s time for dinner.”

Ginny worried her lip and stopped him, “You live here with Hermione?”

Harry snorted, “Gods no. I live at the Black Manor with Sirius of course.”

“You spend a lot of time here.”

“I work for Granger Enterprises.”

Ginny frowned, “Why? What about Sirius?”

He gave her a wry smile and pressed a kiss to her forehead before replying. “Let’s say I wanted to do it myself and leave it at that.”

Ginny nodded and followed him out the door and down the stairs. Hermione and Sirius were seated at the small dining table where food was being put out. Ginny’s eyes widened and she placed a hand on her growling stomach. 

“That smells amazing,” Ginny said. 

“Well come over and make sure it tastes good too,” Hermione said, beckoning her over. They sat down at the places set and Hermione grinned seeing the three of them at her table. 

“When Remus arrives, be sure to let him, Tonks and Teddy in,” Hermione said rounding the table. “I have a bit more work to do. Help yourselves.”

Ginny frowned, “But…”

“Don’t worry about me,” Hermione said. “It won’t take long, I’ll likely be back before you get to bed. Take it easy, eat, and rest.”

Ginny nodded, “Th-Thank you, Hermione.”

“You’re welcome, Ginny.”

She pat Sirius on the shoulder, ruffled Harry’s hair and was out the door. 

Sirius sighed, contemplating Hermione’s advice before dragging his eyes over to Ginny and Harry. She didn’t meet his gaze, maybe a tad uncomfortable with him being there but Harry gave him a pleading look. 

He was really no good with this. 

Remus, Tonks, and Teddy arrived luckily, bringing the giggling of the toddler and the appetite of two full grown wizards with them. With them the atmosphere relaxed enough that Harry and Ginny began speaking again. Remus was much better at being warm and sociable than he had ever been and Tonks was just the same. 

She and Teddy set to changing their features in their usual dinner games intriguing Ginny. Harry explained that Tonks and Teddy were metamorphmagi. Before Sirius realized it, he and Ginny were speaking. Cordial words about school, carefully steering the conversation away from the catastrophe had turned out to be. 

“Lord Black,” Ginny began, cutting through the lull in conversation. 

“Yes?” Sirius asked.

“Why does she hate you so much?” Ginny asked. “We are cousins, aren’t we?”

_ Seems like she doesn’t believe in reprieves, _ Sirius thought glancing at Harry before returning his gaze to Ginny’s face. 

“She never explained and Dad never said much about why. We’re cousins. You took Harry in, I can’t believe that you wouldn’t have taken us in too or helped if we asked.”

“And therein lies the problem, dear Ginny,” Sirius asked. “Your parents, dear Arthur and his wife, never asked.”

Ginny worried her lip, “It isn’t that I expect you to answer, I just don’t understand it at all. I always thought we were at least scraping by and now…”

Sirius shook her his head, “I am not sure if I should be the one to tell you.”

“Would you tell me if I asked?” Ginny asked. “I know I’m still a minor, but I deserve to know.”

Remus grimaced, “Ginny, it isn’t about your being a minor and I believe Sirius fully agrees with your right to know; however, they are your parents and as such they have their reasons for keeping things from you.”

Ginny turned her eyes back to Sirius, “You didn’t answer me.”

Sirius chuckled, “Out of love for Arthur and my sympathy, no I wouldn’t; however, I would advise that you ask him.”

Ginny sighed, “Right.”

“Don’t let what you learn cloud your view of your mother,” Sirius advised. “She is at heart a good woman.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if him saying it after everything that had happened pissed her off more or if she simply couldn’t get angrier. 

*

Molly poured over the documents as Arthur sat quietly beside the fire. There was no amount of revisiting past mistakes that would fix their problem. There was no amount of anything but work ahead of them. Ron, Fred and George sat quietly, their stomach rumbling across the fire from them as Molly fiddled with the pages.

“Th-This can’t be right.”

“It is,” Arthur said, he looked over to his boys and thought of Charlie, William, and Percy. 

“Arthur, I know math and this can’t be right!”

Arthur sighed and turned to his wife. 

“At what point will you stop lying to yourself?”

She froze, her face heating as she whirled on Arthur, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Molly, my love,” Arthur said hopelessly. “The charade is over. The boys and Ginny are still in school.”

“We’ll just have to--”

“Molly,” he said again. “Stop it.”

She closed her mouth and her expression morphed in a cold anger before she stood. 

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault! You are just as much to blame!”

Arthur’s eyes hardened and he stood up, towering over her. Years of rage and anger, resentment bubbling close enough to the surface to be dangerous.

“ _ She is our daughter, not a pawn, _ ” he hissed.

“Women do what they have to in order to protect their families.”

“Or perhaps if you had managed not to be so selfish in the first place, we would not be here.”

“Selfish? You--”

“Need I remind you,” Arthur started, thrusting his palm towards her. She paled at the sight of the sigil on his hand and whatever fight she’d had in her died out. 

He lifted the pages from her hands and she sat quietly.

“I--”

“Enough,” he said and sunk down. “This isn’t the time to rehash old mistakes.”

George and Fred glanced between one another before the looked back at their parents. There had been times in their childhood that where Molly and Arthur would fight, a resigned expression in their father’s eyes every time Molly screeched and yelled. This time was different, something dark and disturbing. 

“How long have you known?” Molly asked. 

“Since Ginny was born,” Arthur said, rummaging through his pockets. “Boys, go to the Black Manor and ask for Sirius.”

Molly gasped, “You--”

Arthur handed him a slip of parchment, “When you arrive, give him this. He will take care of you.”

“What about you and mum?” Ron asked.

“We have a great deal to talk about,” Arthur said. “Go on. If you hurry, perhaps you’ll catch him before they turn in for the night.”

Fred took the paper and stood. George took Ron’s arm and steered him away from the small fire. If there was anything that Arthur could say he regretted in his marriage to Molly Prewett, it was that look of terror on Ron’s face, fear, and confusion. It was Ginny’s tears and the way she’d torn the family she so desperately wanted apart. 

_ No, _ Arthur thought ruefully. 

Molly had never wanted a family. She wanted daughters and with every boy born, she grew more and more desperate. 

With Ginny’s birth, all hell had broken loose leading to this point. The deal Molly made at Ginny’s birth would have given them status and wealth enough to last them a few generations, yet Arthur had refused. He didn’t believe in selling children, no matter how dire the circumstances. 

To find that Molly had enchanted him, stealing his will at times, manipulating him at others had been a blow that he didn’t he’d ever fully recover from. Yet he’d stayed for the sake of his children. The Prewett family was all but destitute, in no better state than the Weasleys. They would have given her no help. 

Molly could have been married to Sirius had his parents been in more control of their wayward son before they died and left him the heir. Arthur knew it was a large part of why Molly resented Sirius so much. 

The debt that Molly had racked up on behalf of the Weasleys magic potions, life debts, the cost of seven children, six growing boys, had drained what little had been in the Weasley coffers, yet Molly had been steadfast in her belief that someone would see their daughter and through her their financial woes would vanish so long as she was married off before she became of age. 

Arthur had done everything in his power to keep that from happening, refusing to give his blessing or leave his seal with Molly for any reason. He loved her, truly, but he did not trust her. Molly cried quietly beside him and Arthur looked to the sky, wondering what he’d done in a past life to deserve a wife who would enchant him and attempt to sell off their children?

“We are all but ruined,” Molly said pitifully, clutching the paperwork. “Curse the Malfoys. This is all just change to them. Why can’t they--”

“When you decide to take responsibility for at least part of this, perhaps we’ll get somewhere.”

“Don’t you lecture me, Arthur!”

He hissed at the twist of pain up his arm, but remained uninterested in her rage. 

“Sending our children to that vagabond--”

“I’m sending them to a roof and food,” Arthur said. “My cousin, for all that you resent him, is a good man.”

“Taking in urchins,” Molly huffed. “Does not make him a good man, Arthur. What of tradition? His complete lack of regard for it is--”

“The reason that you are a Weasley and not Black,” Arthur said. “I thought once that perhaps my love for you would be enough.”

Molly flinched as he stood.

“I can see that won’t ever be the case,” Arthur said. “But we are bound so long as this debt hangs over our heads. Let us at least be cordial until it is paid in full.”

He found that after all these years, it gave him no joy to say such things, but it gave him no sorrow either. It had been a long time, longer than any of his children had been alive perhaps that he felt anything warm with regards to his wife. 


	8. Just A Touch Of Magic

“Perhaps you’re cursed, Granger,” Draco said loftily. Normally, she would have ignored him, but today his voice felt like swords jammed into her ears. 

Seemed like she was getting irascible as the days ticked by and more of her working force fell ill. The smarmy Malfoy family could never simply pay fair could they?

_ Of course not. _

“Don’t worry. We wizards know how to deal with curses. When the company becomes a part of Malfoy Expeditions, we’ll cleanse it.”

Hermione kneeled over the man who looked up at her blearily, “Oh, I’m sure. Be sure to pass your wizarding exams first, yes?” 

He flushed and walked away as she wiped the sweat from the man’s forehead.

“It’s okay. I’ve got something for you. I promise.”

He coughed, looking up at her as she held his hand and tipped a cup of water into his mouth, whispering words of a healing spell and watching as he began to sweat pools of black. The black liquid turned a deep purple as it stained his clothes and his complexion returned to normal.

When it was done and his sweat ran clear he blinked with clear bleary eyes up at her, “Little ‘Mione?”

She smiled, “Hello, Georgei. Why don’t I take you home?”

He nodded and she got him onto his feet. Georgei lived on the other side of town, but she walked him all the way there, gave him a satchel of herbs, told him to take it easy for a few days, and not to worry about his pay. The sky opened up above her unleashing a thick downpour as she returned to the estation. The estate was quiet except for the rain and sent prickle of awareness up her spine. 

At least until she heard Ginny shriek from the kitchen.

“Fred! George! I swear!” 

She chuckled hearing them. Apparently, the twins weer back and were as lively as ever.

“Are the guests behaving themselves?” Hermione asked wryly.

“Hardly,” Ginny grumbled swatting George. “But they're your problem now.”

She smirked as Ginny left the room. Fred and George turned sobered up surprisingly quickly, given their usual banter.

“I take it you’re here for a reason?” Hermione asked. 

“Er,” Fred started. “Yeah. We were hoping that your offer of employment was still on the table.”

“Doesn’t seem like anyone else will hire the Weasleys these days.”

“Mum and Dad never explained why.”

Hermione could bet why, but she led them to the study. Fred and George had already graduated from wizarding school. She drew them up contracts and a list of documents she needed to hire them officially. 

“Get these back to me before the end of the week,” Hermione told them with a smile. “And try to keep the jokes out of it.”

They grinned their cheshire grins and nodded, “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

“Before you go,” she said, crossing her arms and regarding them. “Why is it that you came here instead of to Mage McGonagall’s?”

“We did go to her,” Fred said. “She sent us here.”

Hermione nodded, “Good to know. Now, will you be joining us for dinner or do you have plans?”

“I assume Ron might lose his mind if we don’t come back.”

“The poor kid has already lost everything he owns.”

Hermione chuckled at that, “Well, I expect to see you both bright and early. Whatever the Malfoys are attempting to do is slowing production down more than I like.”

They traded a confused look, but agreed to be back the next day with their paperwork in hand.

Fred and George arrived just before dawn the next morning with their paperwork and an air of nervousness around them. Hermione isn’t sure what they expected to be doing, but she’s pretty sure that it isn’t bottling hair potions and delivering them. It hardly mattered because work was work, a paycheck and stability. After losing everything for reasons they couldn’t control, Hermione didn’t have to wonder about how hard they’d work. 

She left them under Harry’s supervision before she headed to the northern port to fill in for Georgei. The Malfoys had gotten underhanded with their tactics: attacking the people who worked for her, near fatally poisoning them, but Hermione had a contingency plan in place that kept production going even when people started to quit. 

“I just don’t understand,” McGonagall said as she came in for their monthly meeting. “That’s another three people just this week.”

“It’s the Malfoys,” Hermione said. “They’re trying to run Granger Enterprises into the ground, but they can’t especially with the ball coming up.”

“The ball?”

Hermione smirked. The ball would have nearly every high-society witch, wizard, and muggle there. It was the perfect time to rub shoulders and get new business and there was nothing that Narcissa and that smarmy weasel Draco could do to stop Granger Enterprises from being represented. McGonagall wouldn’t be attending the ball, but Harry and the twins would be. Hermione had received her merchant’s invitation and would be attending in that capacity as well. 

“Surely you intend to go?” Minerva asked.

“Of course, I do,” she said. “But I also plan to have representatives. It will be tricky since I’m not technically eligible to marry any of the princes, but possible.”

Minerva worried her lip, “How so?”

“I have a merchant’s invitation,” she said. “The queen and the king’s mother have been using my mother’s potions for years.”

Minerva laughed, “My girl, you must be touched by faerie.”

Hermione shrugged, “Maybe. How are things on the east port coming along?”

*

On the day of the ball, Hermione got up earlier than usual. She had a few other deliveries to make, some last minute contracts to settle and payments to collect. She had to pick up her gown of course, attend to her normal duties, and return to the Estate. It was a long day, but if she stayed focused and did just a little magic, she’d have enough time to check in with McGonagall like she wanted, take a nap, and get ready for the ball. 

Around noon, Hermione exited the last building she had to visit with more than enough time to get back to the Estate and to change.  She tucked her renovation notes away in her deceptively small purse and walked towards town. She would be meeting with Minerva and--

She whirled just a second too slow to avoid the stunning spell. A grimy faced man leaned over her.

“This her?”

“Yeah, hurry up.”

They lifted her and tossed her into the back of a carriage. It would hurt later, she knew, but she didn’t have time to contemplate that.

_ Damn it, _ she thought. This would really put a damper in her plans. 

She had no way of seeing out the window, but she bet that where they were going wasn’t anywhere that could surprise her. When the carriage stopped, they carried her out of the carriage, across a clearing, and tossed her into the cellar along with her things. 

“Don’t worry, puppet,” he said. “That spell will wear off in due time and the miss won’t want you down there for too long.”

“Yeah, just long enough to ruin you.”

A black cat trotted through the underbrush and she focused on sending a small glint of magic towards the cat before they slammed the enchanted doors shut. The spell vanished and her body relaxed. 

“ _ Lumos, _ ” she said, raising her wand. She sent the sphere of light to hover above her and survey the room. It was an old and damp cellar. Tree roots grew through the earth walls, but there was nothing else special about the room except for the obvious anti-apparation ward.

For the first hour, she hurled cancelling spells and curse-breaking enchantments at the door. When none of them worked, she looked for another way to escape. It seemed that Narcissa had dug deep into her warding knowledge for this prison. Internally, it was unbreakable, but all the enchantments would disengage as soon as the door was open. Problem was that there was a latch on the doors above her that could only be opened from the outside. It was a smart trap-- genius even. 

She only hoped that black cat would find McGonagall before it was too late.

_ Keep calm, Hermione, _ she thought and took a seat. Even if she couldn’t get out, Harry and the twins would spread the word just as she planned. She wouldn’t get as much of a sales boost as she’d planned but it would be enough and she could make up the difference. 

_ Unless Narcissa is even more underhanded than I thought, _ she thought, glaring at the door.

_ Please hurry, Minerva. _

*

Minerva McGonagall wasn’t exactly having the best day. The carriage that Hermione had rented for the evening had been destroyed. As it was the only carriage in town that hadn’t been reserved by anyone else Hermione would have no way to get to the ball unless she was going to ride a horse there or fly on a broom. While it would look strange for a merchant to do so, she knew that Hermione would do so if necessary. The company returned Hermione’s deposit, but that was only a small conciliation. Harry had offered that Hermione could ride with him and Ginny, but Hermione’s gown had also been stolen from the shop along with several other simple ones. The Aurors suspected that it was the work of a noble wizard or muggle in order to lessen the competition for the hand of a prince, but they had no leads. The price for the gown had been returned, but again that wasn’t going to fix the problem at hand. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, the woman in question was  _ missing _ . She knew that Hermione had been on her way to McGonagall’s office just after leaving the old storehouse on the other side of town. She should have been there hours ago, but had not arrived. 

Narcissa and Draco made it a point to stop on the way to the Malfoy Manor beside McGonagall who stood on the street.

“Why Mage McGonagall, it’s quite a surprise to see you without your  _ mistress _ .”

McGonagall glared at the haughty woman, “If you have hurt one hair on that child’s head, I will have your innard for bootlaces.”

Narcissa laughed, “How base. What need would I have to hurt a muggle girl? Carry on, driver.”

_ The wench, _ McGonagall thought. There were so few people in the world that had the power to be truly evil. She believed that Narcissa was one of them. 

“ _ Meow. _ ”

She turned. A black cat stared up at her. It wasn’t rare that cats flocked to her, she’d chosen a cat as her familiar in school and her animagus form was a cat for a reason.

“What is it, little one? Have you lost your way?”

The cat stood and meowed before walking down the street towards the forest. 

_ Follow _ , McGonagall thought.  _ Hermione. _

She walked quickly after the cat and summoned her broom. It wasn’t exactly a short walk and by the time they’d reached the destination it was dark. She cast a light spell around her and walked towards the double red doors in the ground. 

“Well, where have you led me?”

“McGonagall?!” Hermione called through the door. 

Her eyes widened and she brandished her wand to check for curses. There didn’t seem to be any so she pulled off the latch and opened it. 

“My dear,” she said primly. “This is not the right time for cellar diving.”

Hermione laughed and jumped to pull herself out of the cellar. She pet the black cat.

“Thank you dear,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Not early enough to fix everything that has gone wrong at the last possible moment, I should think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well dear…”   
*

“What are you going to do, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, fiddling with his dress robes. 

Hermione sat still in her office. 

“I will figure it out,” she said. “Go on with Ginny, Fred, and George, just like we planned.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Go on. The Malfoys are good, but until I get things fixed I will need you there as my eyes and ears. Go on.”

They left and Hermione closed the door after them. McGonagall came back down the corridor.

“Well my dear, perhaps all is not lost,” she said. “I have a friend. She knew your father. She used to be a gown maker before the Malfoys ran her out of business. I found her, but I am not sure how she will react to the prospect of making you a gown tonight..”

Hermione chuckled, “It’s a start and half the problem.”

“And for a carriage?” McGonagall asked. “I suppose you could fly, with enough calming potion in you, but riding is almost out of the question at this time in the evening.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get back. Let’s go meet this woman.”

The woman in question was the original Madam Malkin to Hermione’s surprise. She lived in a hovel more than a house and apparently scraped by with whatever coins she could earn since Malfoy Enterprises took her original shop from her and reopened it under a good friend of theirs-- a cousin of the true Madam Malkin.

“I don’t make gowns for anyone,” she said with a bitter gasp curling up by the weak fire. “I have not the passion for it any longer.”

McGonagall turned to leave but Hermione crossed the room to take the woman’s hands. They were scarred from hard labor both wizarding and muggle, but beyond those scars she saw pinprick made callouses. The callouses had not faded, nor were these that old.

The woman still made gowns by hand and by wand.

“My mother once said that a woman’s hands betrayed her world,” Hermione said and met the woman’s dark gaze. “I see a gown maker’s hands who has not given up her trade.”

Her hands tensed in Hermione’s hands.

“You say you have lost your passion for it, but a woman does not sit by the fire and sew tapestries with stitches made for ball gowns because she has lost her passion,” she said. 

Madam Malkin gasped, “Who are you?”

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said. “My father was William Granger and my mother was Selena Telos.”

Her eyes widened, “You’re her daughter?”

“I am,” she said. 

“You have your mother’s eyes,” she said pressing her hand to Hermione’s.

“I’d like to offer you a proposition,” Hermione said. “One fit for the true Madam Malkin.”

“I am listening.”

Hermione grinned. Everyone wanted to make a deal. She offered the woman her own quarters at the Granger Estate, a salary, and backing to open her own gown shop in Surtse whether that be for private tailoring or full on seamstressing. Madam Malkin seemed shocked, but she smiled.

“That is of course whether you make me a gown tonight or not,” Hermione said. “You are a woman of talent and I am a businesswoman interested in expanding the Telos line of services and connections.”

Her mother’s potions had only been the beginning based on what she’d found in the woman’s journal of ideas. A gown shop affiliated with the Telos name would be enough to get the Secrets of Telos on enough lips in the three kingdoms to give her mother’s dreams a fighting chance.

“You must promise me one thing,” Madam Malkin said. “Should I make you this gown, you will crush the Malfoys, especially that  _ Narcissa _ .”

“You have my word.”

“Then we have a deal.”

Hermione escorted her out of the hovel and apparated them to the manor with all of her things.  She made Madam Malkin dinner and showed her to her quarters. Whether the woman expected to be given the chance to bathe and eat first, Hermione couldn’t know. Time was of the essence but being rude would have been worse than missing a few minutes at the ball. She only needed an entrance, a glamour, and a premise to be granted a conversation with everyone of importance and be  _ back _ in that horrible little cellar before Narcissa sent her goons to let her out.

“I can’t go there as Hermione,” she said. “I will use my invitation for Granger Enterprises. It must look like I planned not to go.”

“Yes,” McGonagall said. “Narcissa is a vindictive witch and making her appear to be outwitted would be far more effective in getting her to make a mistake. We will devise your cover story  _ after _ we have come up with a way to get you there.”

Hermione led her outside to her secondary workshop, “I’ve been working on it for a while, but I haven’t quite gotten the animation spells right.”

She opened the doors to reveal the sculpted marble orb and horses. The orb and the horses had been carved with magic by a wizarding artist she met on his way to the capital. The work hadn't cost much since Hermione had bought the marble for cheap and done quite a lot of legwork for it. 

“It doesn’t have wheels,” McGonagall said. 

Hermione flicked her wand and the orb floated, “It doesn’t need them. The charm is activated by a wave of a wand.”

McGonagall lifted her own wand and after a few words and swishes, the marble horses came to life, neighing as if they breathed and stomping their feet. 

“How is that for a carriage?” Hermione asked as McGonagall stared at the carriage in amazement.

“I believe it will do quite well.”

They led the carriage outside and checked the spells before leaving it in front of the house. McGonagall went to aid Madam Malkin while Hermione rushed upstairs for a bath. She used versions of her mother’s potions that she had only developed for herself to detangle her hair and turn it into a collection of glossy curls. The curls banded together in defined ringlets around her shoulders. She slipped into the underwear she’d purchased for the event and wrapped herself in a robe. She walked down the hall to knock on Madam Malkin’s new workshop and waited for the door to open.

Madam Malkin opened the door and smiled at her. 

“Come in, dear. I’m just putting the final touches on it.”

She walked into the room and gasped at the gown floating before her. It seemed more like the oncoming dawn than a gown. Stardust twinkled in the folds of the skirt and along the bodice that would practically glow against her brown skin.

“You are truly the greatest gown maker in the world,” Hermione said. “The Malfoys are fools.”

Madam Malkin laughed, “I wanted to make a gown for your mother, but never had a chance. I never thought I would have a chance to make one for her daughter.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I promise that the Malfoys will rue the day they decided to run you out of business.”

“I’m counting on it.”


	9. Because You're Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball is finally here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See... I'm not dead; the story is not dead. No one is dead. Promise.

If there was one part of being royal that Viktor had never understood, it was the way people reacted to him. He had a crown; his father had a throne, and somehow, that made everyone around them either bow down or flock to be seen. His brothers loved and languished in the attention while Viktor simply stood by his father’s side and glowered at the display. In just a few weeks, he would be thrust into the spotlight for the commemoration ceremony to be held in the main square in Surtse. Tonight, he was meant to have his eye caught by a glittering dress or sharply cut suit and give hope to the entirety of Surtse somehow. He would rather not step foot in the spotlight a moment sooner than he had to.

“You will not dance?” Stanislav asked and looked up before laughing at his youngest son’s expression. “Dear, Vitya… you will scare them away with that scowl.”

“Perhaps for the best,” he replied, “What was mother thinking when she came up with this idea?”

He snorted, “That I am dying, her sons need brides before I did, you almost died, and the kingdom could use a bit of cheer to get over the war.”

Viktor winced. Leave it to his father to answer an obviously rhetorical question, “Thanks for that, tatko.”

His father laughed, “Go Vitya, you cannot stand guard over me all night. Death is not so kind as to be visceral.”

Viktor opened his mouth to protest, and his father raised a hand, “Besides, your mother and my mother would have my head if I did not at least attempt to persuade you to humor them. For me, Vitya?”

Viktor sighed and nodded. Bowing, he took his leave. He could feel his father watch him walk down the steps. He would do this for his father. It was such a simple thing and the least he could do for scaring him and his mother all this time. With a scan of the room , he found a young woman to approach. She was in line to dance with one of his brothers. She was near the back in a plain gown, one of the constituents of the kingdom without title or wealth for sure. She seemed surprised, but eager as he bowed, kissed her hand, and ushered her onto the dance floor. The women near her murmured between themselves in shock as he led her away and gave her a smile as she blushed.

Viktor knew his brothers had a very different approach: they let the servants of the royal house escort their dance partners on and off the floor, preferring to dance with only the woman who had the finest gowns. While impersonal and efficient, Viktor thought it was rather disrespectful, so he led his partners one by one from the group, choosing literally at random for the most part. It didn’t matter to him who he asked as he’d already scouted the entire hall and found that his mysterious mage was not there. Until she arrived, this was all for his parents and grandmother’s sake. He tried to speak with them as they danced, asked for their names, gave them his attention as much as possible while stealing glances up to his mother and grandmother who seemed more than just overjoyed to see him on the floor.

*

“We did well, Stani’,” Ekaterina said squeezing his shoulder.

“Yes, we did, love.”

He smiled and forced himself to stand, “You would dance with your old Knight?”

Her jaw trembled and she nodded, taking his hands and letting him lead her in waltzing circles around the throne. She swallowed as she felt the tension in his shoulders. She recognized it as the pain of his illness that he wouldn’t acknowledge. He smiled at her as sweetly and in love as ever. 

_ She was going to lose him. _

“ _ Shh, mila, _ ” Stanislav said evenly, keeping the pain out of his voice, “I love you.”

She cried softly into his shoulder, clinging to him and begging the gods for some reprieve. She had already lost so much. They had already lost so much. She couldn’t lose him too.

“Stani’, I…” she said thickly, trembling, “ _ Please. _ ”

“We all must go sweet,” he said, “It is only a matter of when.”

_ But why now? _

*

Viktor forced himself to look away to try and focus on his dance partner, but it seemed that just the sight of them was too much. As a child, he’d watched his parents dance through the great hall. He’s watched their last dance just before he went to join their army. It had given him hope, stoked his dreams that he would find someone to love him as much as his parents loved one another. 

It gave him hope that he’d find his dragonheart.

He laughed at the thought. Dragonhearts were extremely rare. The term came from an old story of Surtse about the dragon who had bestowed magic onto a couple so that they might connect better without their different languages getting in the way. There was a lot of details he couldn’t remember about it, but he knew that it involved a conflict of sometime coming to an end with their union. Now, it was just a wizarding phenomenon of two people who’s magics were so similar and so in harmony, that they could feel one another. Muggles called it being soulmates.

His parents were dragonhearts. His grandparents on his father’s side had been as well. His grandmother told him once what it had felt like to lose Viktorius, how she’d known and how she kept going on. He didn’t want that for his mother. He escorted his partner back to her seat and escaped to get something to drink when he heard the music stutter to a stop and a gasp through the hall.

He turned to see what the commotion was and saw her there at the top of the grand staircase. The door closed behind her as she reached for the railing and began to descend the staircase. No introduction was made, though he doubted she needed an introduction clothed in a night sky breaking into dawn and looking around with a wicked smile that made his heart stutter. Her hair was fashion up and off her neck with a wreath of gold flowers and warm light to match the glimmering of her gown, her eyes, and the warm brown of her skin. Viktor couldn’t help but notice that her gown was of a warm dawn rather than the distant misty pictures in the hall. A breathtaking sight of golden light and passion with clouds moving slowly to allow light and dark to mingle and exhale across her form like a lover's sigh. Her long gloves were made of a gorgeous lace that made her arms seem to glow golden.

She was beautiful, heart stopping, and more than he’d ever imagined appearing in the hall. 

She descended the stairs and greeted everyone kindly, unmindful of the minor uproar she’d cause with her entrance. From his place by the refreshments, he watched her float through the crowd. She’d seemed to have selected the first person to speak to because he was closest to the door. A man in the middle of a group of men. She curtsied politely and opened her mouth to speak to the man. What she said, he couldn’t know from the distance, but the man’s eyes lit up in joy, and he responded. Viktor recognized him as the diplomat from Italy. The men around him were his colleagues and heads of foreign trade.  Surtse’s executor of trade and his wife seemed to be simply examining her gown as she spoke.

Viktor finished his drink quickly and walked towards the mysterious young woman. 

*

“Who made your gown? I have never seen work like this before,” the executor of trade asked eyeing her gown as his wife gawked.

Hermione would have smiled smugly, but she retained her composure. The woman wouldn’t recognize her behind the glamor, but she was the same young woman delivering cases of food, hair potions, and more to the woman’s door who she sneered down her nose 

“Madame Malkin’s here in Surtse,” she said easily, “The true Madame Malkin has entered into an agreement with Granger Enterprises.”

She nodded her head, bade the group goodbye and walked on through the room. She couldn’t make out what was being said in the whispers that followed her, but she could bet that it wouldn’t take long for that little tidbit to get around.  She saw Harry and Ginny across the room conversing with Bill and a few other unfamiliar faces across the room and smiled. No doubt they’d been working the room since before she arrived. 

“Her shoes are lovely,” she heard to her left, “What are they?”

“Jewels?”

“Crystal?”

_ Good, _ she thought. She walked purposefully to allow their glow to spill across the floor with every step and cause the clouds on her dress to move as if she walked across the night sky into dawn.

“Excuse me,” Hermione stopped to see the Duc of France behind her. An older man who was not quite going gray and representing his entire country tonight. This particular Duc had such a hand in the court that he’d been at the top of her list to speak to. She knew that he had daughters who would be intrigued, at the least, by her gown, but she didn’t see them with him.

“Your Grace,” she greeted kindly with a curtsy, “It is an honor to meet you.”

He bowed, “I assure you the honor is mine. If it is not so much to ask, my youngest daughter was sick and could not attend tonight. She is such a purveyor of fashion that she would have pictures of all the gowns of tonight. She would throttle me if I did not get a picture yours.”

She smiled, “Well, I would never stand in the way of a father and daughter bond, by all means.”

He offered her his arm and he led her to a photographer who had apparently been tasked with taking the photos for the night. She sat on the bench allowing her shoes to become visible as the photographer took the photos. 

“Madame Malkin here in Surtse  is where I ordered my gown from,” she said, “She’s quite a wonder. Partnered with Granger Enterprise, she will be quite a force to be reckoned with.”

He nodded in thought, “Your shoes…”

“They are from Granger Enterprises,” she said, “A young mage under Madame Malkin’s advisement.”

She smiled warmly at him even as she wanted to laugh. Advisement wasn’t accurate. It was a desperate last minute application of the glass mix she was developing for her greenhouse. It was stronger than steel and contained magic like a liquid.

“I’ve… never seen anything like it,” he said in awe staring at her feet,“What sort of crystal is that?”

“It isn’t,” she said. “They’re made of a special glass and filled with pure magic.”

He seemed shocked as she tapped her toes together and a burst of light rippled over them, seeming to reverse the time on her gown so that it was closer to a midnight sky than breaking dawn.

“They help keep my dress clean, remain clean themselves, and have the added bonus of manipulating my gown’s colors. Truly a marvelous job.”

He nodded and asked her to meet the daughters he’d brought with him, a few other ambassadors that he knew who also had daughters and wives, and generals regarding the military application of forms of pure magic who she gladly spoke to about anything they wished. It took no time to instill in them the fact hat Granger Enterprises was a company with an eclectic repertoire of services which was all she wanted. 

After all, she was not at the ball to dance or to catch a prince. Her invitation was strictly as a merchant, and as a merchant, she would act.

When Viktor finally reached her, she was speaking with the Malfoys. Narcissa addressed her as “your Highness”, and Draco had even managed to kiss her lace covered hand before they began to try and convince her about transferring her financial management to Malfoy Expeditions. She hadn’t spoken at all about who she managed her finances through, but she supposed that her appearance and glamor was doing exactly what she needed it to do if they were so keen to get her business. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermione said loftily, putting on the full air of the station they assumed she had. “My family has never changed out financial management. Why would I? As for trade needs, I have trusted the Granger name and their ethics just as my parents did. They have done nothing but treat me well.”

“A muggle company could not hope to fully comprehend the intricacies of magic, your Highness,” Narcissa said, “They may have wizards in their employ, but surely you can agree that wizarding knowledge of the highest quality is held by wizarding families.”

She hummed, “From what I know of the heir, what I’ve heard from others who have done business with her, she is well-versed in many things. And while her father was a muggle, he was not a fool in the ways of magic. The Estate was well warded to my memory. The Grangers have always hired the best. She has several wizards of several distinguished families in her employ as well as Mistress McGonagall. I was told that the owner of Granger Enterprises should be here tonight.”

“That would be me,” Narcissa said, “Granger Enterprises was the endeavor of my late husband and will be passed on to me in a few months time.”

Hermione smiled, “It’s so very nice to meet you, Hermione.”

Narcissa went pale, “My name in Narcissa.”

Hermione’s smile dropped, and she frowned as she pulling out the letter, “I was certain that this letter came from Granger Enterprises, the heir, one Hermione Granger, daughter of William Granger. Is she quite alright?”

She showed the letter embossed with the Granger symbol, sealed by her own hand, only showing the word “Contract” rather than the contents. She’d brought it with her to show prospects and make copies. It was a blank contract, but Narcissa need not know that. 

She would hand it to the snake of a woman, she kept her composure and there was only a flicker of something like a sick pleasure that crossed her eyes. 

“She is my step-daughter. Would you mind perhaps sharing with me the contract’s termsas a back-up—”

“You would already have a copy, would not? If you are tutoring her in the way of business?” she asked tucking the contract away.

Narcissa opened her mouth, “It is quite often that she will sign contracts without my knowledge.”

Hermione shook her head, “It seems that there is more to be wary of at this even than too much alcohol. It would seem that you are not tutoring Hermione in much of anything if she can sign contracts without your consent…”

Narcissa stammered, “I—“

“I do hope you have not implied that Granger Enterprises is your company to anyone else tonight, or I would be forced to embarrass you, Lady Malfoy.”

“O-Of course, your highness. I would never do something so unbecoming…If you would excuse us.”

“Of course,” she said, “Lady Malfoy.”

Hermione almost wanted to laugh, but as she turned, and her eyes met Viktor’s, she couldn’t. His dark eyes looked at her like a mirror and she felt as though he could see through her glamor. 

_ Of course he can, _ she thought. He was a trained mage.

“It is you…”

She smiled at him and looked at him as openly as he looked at her. Clean shaven, his hair was cut, the grime of the road and war cleared away to reveal a startlingly handsome young man. 

“Hello, sir knight,” she greeted.

“You said you worked, yet I did not think you meant as a diplomat.”

She looked him over and frowned. The quality of his suit spoke to a great wealth and class, the coloring and--

“You’re a noble,” she gasped. 

Her eyes widened as a twist of panic went through her. 

Viktor smile and bowed offering his hand, “Would you grant me the privilege of leading you through the next dance?”

She swallowed and placed a hands in his allowing him to lead her past Harry and Ginny. They smiled at her knowingly, but knowing something that she didn’t and it unsettled her even more. They stepped onto the dance floor, and he placed a hand around her waist. Lifting her gloved hand under his own, he gently to led her into the first steps of the Surtsean waltz.

“You have surprised me,” he said, “I  worried that you would not come.”

“Royal order,” she said, “And I owe the maker of my gown a great deal of debt for such lovely work.”

“You are beautiful,” he said spinning her around and clasping her gloved hand.

“Thank you, sir knight.”

Her eyes looked around to see the congregation surrounding them, no one else danced with them. 

“Everyone is staring at you.”

He smirked, “No, mila, everyone is staring at you.”

She looked up at him.

“It is too  bad for them that I stole you to the floor first.”

She laughed as he lifted her high and set her down turning into a spin, “A tragedy for sure.”

“For them,” he said pulling her close, “Will you sit with me?”

“Depends on where you’re sitting.”

Viktor’s seat was with muggles of London.. He explained that he had been marked as the diplomatic one by his commanders, but with Hermione at the table,  he doesn’t need to do much. She sat down, complemented the English Prime Minister on her gown and listened to her less about politics and trade and more about fashion before carrying the conversation towards such things. It was obvious that the rest of the table aside from Viktor was waiting for the notoriously cold woman to shut Hermione down. Thankfully, Hermione had been doing her research on who would be there and how to approach them. It’s a refreshingly light conversation that marks the table as the center of the party. 

When the woman laughs loudly, it shocked the men with her, and Hermione counted it as a victory for Granger Enterprises.  Eventually, Viktor managed to steal Hermione away from the people who seemed to adore her to ask for a moment alone with her.

“Of course, your Highness,” a baron said with a nod shocking Hermione. Viktor escorted her out of the ballroom, down the hall and into another parlor that closed where only a single guard, paintings, and couches remained.

“You’re the prince,” she said in horror. 

This was so much worse than she first imagined. What was she to do? The prince of all people? She would be lucky if they didn’t murder her for blood treason. 

He would be furious.

He chuckled, “Well, I’m actually one of eight, so just  _ a  _  prince.”

“You said you were a knight, more importantly you’re Prince  _ Viktor: _ war hero, accomplished mage-- for all intents and purposes, you are  _ the _ prince.”

He smiled at her, “I concede that point and raise you a contention. I am a knight; I fought in the war--”

“As a commander, good sir.”

“Such a title does not change the fact that I am a knight of Surtse.”

She glowered at his amused and teasing eyes.

“You did not say you were noble either,” he said. “Is that not the nature of meeting on the road?”

She sighed, “I suppose so.”

Yet, she was not a noble by any means, and at the end of their exchanges, it would not be him who could end up on the chopping block. 

_ Keep your head, Hermione, _ she said,  _ You have to make it clear. _

“I am sorry. I… did not want to be noticed, to be treated differently.”

She worried her lip and nodded. It wasn’t a sentiment and looked at him. Regardless of how careful she had to be, she placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, “How is your father?”

He swallowed looping their arms together and leading her out the door, down the hall and outside to the garden’s overlook from which they could see the front of the palace. She can see her carriage glimmering as they walk the path.

“I have never seen a carriage like that,” he said watching it hover and the marble horses whiny at them across the distance. She smiled as a bit of pride made her lift her chin. 

She wasn’t royal or noble. She was just a muggleborn, but she was damn brilliant.

“It’s a protoype,” Hermione told him as they passed the Granger emblem on the back, “ A new spell Granger Enterprises is developing.”

“You are very close to the heir I take it?”

“Kindred spirits, you could say,” she grinned at the words, “You haven’t answered me, Viktor. How is your father?”

Viktor shook his head, “In great pain… They think he will not see the end of the year.”

They followed the path back towards the castle and passed by the door they’d exited towards the entrance of a grand garden maze. They stopped at the first sphinx statue as it activated and blocked their path. Viktor smiled at her and allowed her to answer the riddle. It made her head spin at how fascinating it was, but she answered every riddle easily until they arrived in the center of the garden. 

“I have never made it to the middle alone,” Viktor said with a sheepish smile under the moonlight, “I fear I am not the best at riddles.”

Hermione smiled as they came upon the small pond glowing from the bottom. She rounded it to look down into it and crouched down to get a better look. She couldn’t figure out what made it glow. 

“You have yet to tell me your name,” he said. 

She hesitated and turned to him, “There’s a good reason for that.”

“Good reason?” He repeated with a skeptical expression.

Hermione sighed and looked at him, “I’m… not a royal.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not a noble either.”

He tilted his head and smirked, “Is your next statement along the lines of you’re not a woman either?”

She stood up and glowered at him, “ _ Really? _ That’s your best guess?”

“Your tone implies that I should be shocked, but I’m not.”

Hermione sighed, “You--”

Viktor took her hands and helped her to her feet and closer. 

“I’m not shocked,” Viktor said, “And I don’t care.”

“But…”

It’s the warmth of his hand was the only warning she got. It moved slowly across her cheek and slowly he leaned in. The shock of his hand seemed to shoot through her and back into him so quickly that they had barely caught their breath from it before she knows it’s too late.

_ Don’t... _

Their eyes meet; Hermione knows that she wasn’t the only one who felt it. There’s a hesitance, a confusion, and terror in his brown eyes that makes her forget herself and every reason why this is not a good idea. It’s a siren’s call in the wind filling his eyes and bowing his spine so that their lips met in a shuddering kiss that rocked her every sense of reality. Lightning and the everlasting shot through her. His lips are warm; his grip was firm, and she isn’t expecting the shock of something she’d never known. It’s desire, longing, and something else starting from that simple touch of her face. 

He gasped, a needy little thing into her mouth before his hands slid over her bare shoulders and sent another wave of something extraordinary through her. She felt him, felt everything she was feeling as an echo of his experience and hers until she couldn’t tell who was feeling what. 

A spike of panic went through her as she felt giddy, heady, and her magic felt intoxicated and drawn to wherever their bodies pressed together. 

“ _ Viktor, _ ” she gasped. 

His bare hands on her her bare shoulders, her hands around his neck muted through the lace gloves, but frantic, his tongue in her mouth as he whirled them around and walked them back to the garden wall. Pinning her against the vine covered stone, he kissed her deeply. She moaned softly. Panting and drawing him closer to chase the taste of him as he pinned her to the garden wall, happy to hold her there, she couldn’t heed the warning signs of panic. This couldn’t be. Shaking to get more contact, sliding his hands up her neck to cup her face and taste her or her to taste him-- them: together. 

They hardly know what the heady all-consume feeling was as they pulled apart and sucked in a shared breath.

“We are dragon hearts,” he exhaled. His lips smiled at her, and she felt his joy, relief, and excitement as he looked down at her, kissing her nose, her cheek, dragging his lips over her cheek just to feel their magic twining. 

“I--”

He hushed her, pulling her lips back to his, “Beautiful, wonderful…”

Hermione clasped his wrists near her throat and tried to pull back from the maddening depths they were converging in. 

“Wait,” she said and felt him freeze and pull back immediately, startling her and making her look up into his flushed and magic drunk face. She felt his panic then, maybe as a result of her words or the feeling of absolute terror in her. 

He was a mage and prince of Surtse… 

How could the gods be so cruel?

“What is it…”

“I…--”

A light caught her gaze as a bright burst shot into the sky from the direction where her carriage was. Fireworks: a warning signal, and she froze. The Malfoys were leaving.

“I have to go,” she said looking at him briefly before rushing away from him. 

Dragonhearts, mages, muggleborns, blood treason and all the rest would have to wait. 

He caught her hand, “Wait! I don't even know your name. Please?”

“I can’t,” she said turning and tugging, but he didn’t release her.

“How am I supposed to find you?”

She gave him a look and felt his heart turning in pain as if it were her own, maybe it was because she had daydreamed of that kiss in her office. She had thought of getting to know that valiant knight, but it was not meant to be. 

“You aren’t,” she whispered. He blinked in confusion; his brow furrowed and he lifted his other hand to his chest as if he’d been shot through his chest. It certainly felt that way for her, “Thank you Viktor, for being such a dream, but there are things I can’t explain to you. Won’t ever be able to explain to you. I have to go.”

His grip slipped long enough for her to run, and she forced herself to no matter how much his pain struck through her. She waved a hand to cast a magical ward around his leg to get a running head start and ran.

“Wait!”

Hermione felt her eyes burn at the desperation in his voice. The sound of his voice clawed through her chest like a wolf, and she stumbled at the pain. She lifted her head and forced herself to keep moving along the fastest path out of the maze. She couldn’t perform any distance jumping within the palace walls, but damn it she could run like hell. 

“Please!”

She turned back down the pathway leading back into the palace to avoid the row of knights who would see her running and assume danger. She heard Viktor running behind her, calling after her, but she paid him no heed as she went through the back parlor, through the halls and back through the ballroom. She walked quickly, bidding those she’d spoken to a good night and hurrying up the staircase. 

She felt the presence and stopped hard before bumping into the couple who looked at her strangely. She froze recognizing the two as King Stanislave and Queen Ekaterina, Viktor’s parents. Seeing the man up close, she had to agree that he did not have much time left. 

“Your Majesties,” she greeted with a curtsy, “Forgive me, I didn't mean to run into you.”

“It is quite alright, my dear,” Stanislav said with a warm, but pained smile, “I was hoping dear, Vitya would introduce us, but no matter.”

He kissed her hand in greeting, “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“As is mine, I have never seen Viktor so taken before.”

She smiled, “And I as well. Unfortunately, in this lifetime, such niceties can not be observed. I fear that I will never see you or your son again. Good evening.”

She swept aside and stopped turning back to the stunned couple. She had lost her parents to illness long before she was ready. She knew too well what it could do to someone. Just back from the war, it could destroy Viktor to lose his father. Surely, she could sacrifice this one thing? 

She pulled a gold sprig out of the wreath that held her hair aloft and drew magic to her hands so that it pulsed with light. The sprig grew and flourished into a gleaming golden flower, and she held it out to them. 

“Your son is the most noble man I have ever met,” she said thickly. Her eyes were wet with tears that neither of them could or would ever understand,  “I hope you both know how much he loves you… so very much. Pray you take this to your physician, your majesty. If she is worth her salt, she will know what to do with it.”

She gave him the fully bloomed flower that seemed to glow with a light that no one could explain and curtsied once more before turning to rush away as Viktor came running up the steps after her begging her to stop. Hermione cried out in pain as she tripped down the stairs, but scrambled to her feet. Removing her shoes, she kept running down the stairs towards the carriage out of the sight of anyone but the guards.

“Stop her!” Viktor screamed at the guards who raised their staves to cast stunning spells as she rushed down the steps. 

She dodged one of them and deflected another before raising a barrier on all sides of her and a thick boundary behind her.

She felt a shoe slip from her hand as she nearly fell and turned back to see it just behind the boundary, Viktor running down the stairs and into the boundary. Crying out in pain as he looked at her, his hands pressed against the invisible wall.

“Please,” he begged, “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry! I can’t!”

He walked the edge of the barrier as she turned to run and cast another barrier between her and the knight that had come running clearing a path for her carriage as she climbed in. She climbed into coach and whipped her hand so the horses charged out of the courtyard through the path she’d created. 

Herthat held them all at bay, held the castle gate up vanished and Viktor stood staring after her, his heart clenching painfully, he felt sick. The carriage was faster than any had the right to be, even without that her being able to distance jump it all meant she could have ended up anywhere....

”Your Highness?”

“Da,” he said thickly, wetly, he turned to see Vladimir there, holding up a glowing shoe and he could only laugh. 

“What the hell is that?”

*

Hermione collapsed in the gown she’d quickly changed back into in the Malfoy cellar. A prisoner, successful in her endeavor and sobbing. Her heart hurt, but no amount of beating against her chest, rocking, or hugging herself would stop it. Even across the distance, she could feel his panic and his sorrow. She curled up tight on the ground trying to console herself, but her heart would not yield its sorrow. Her magic ran rampant beneath her skin reaching across the distance that was too far to cross and screaming to find Viktor even as her head told her what her heart already knew. She and Viktor could never be together--would never be together. She would be lucky if they decided not to kill her. The kingdom, while victorious, needed assurances. The wizards needed to know that they and their way of life was safe. The nobles needed to know that their wealth and status were safe. The people needed to know that they were finally free of the war. They needed the assurances that best came with marriages--a princess for every prince and the best princess for the prized war hero. 

She was just the daughter of a merchant, in debt, striving to restore her family name and a  _ muggleborn _ at worse. Currently trapped in the Malfoy’s cellar and perhaps a tad too tired to hope any longer, she just sobbed through the night and screamed in frustration. 

_ Blood treason _ , she thought. It was the gravest offense anyone could commit against the royal family.

Sobbing, curled up, dirty, tired, and grief-stricken is how Narcissa’s goons find her in the morning. While it suited her purposes, it didn’t make her feel any better. It’s Draco who has the pleasure of kicking her out of the estate and dumping her somewhere in the middle of town as if she’d asked to be taken. She doesn’t even bother to say anything to him once she was pushed out of the carriage. She landed hard on the ground and forced herself up as he closed the door behind her. It takes a while to force herself to get up and return to the Granger estate. Once she was far enough out of the town, she distance jumped to her front door and walked in.

“Hey ‘Mione,” Harry greeted. “You look… aweful.”

“Well Harry, that’s what happens when you spend the night in a cellar,” she said offering him a smile. “I’m going to bathe, eat, and then sleep.”

“Then you’ll tell us all about the uproar of Prince Viktor chasing you, right?”

She felt her lips twitched,  _ “Yeah, _ I will.”


	10. A Risky Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Risky and well played, but even Hermione can't see all the potentials.

Viktor sighed again, wrapped in robe and contemplating the shoe on his nightstand. A shoe forged of magic, completely impossible, but every mage he’d consulted said the same thing: a special and nearly impossible glass filled with pure magic.

_ Of all the days to be forgetful, Viktor, _ he thought abysmally licking his lips and walking towards his desk. There were so few clues, so few things that he’d been able to remember from the ball, from everyone he’d questioned thereafter about her. She hadn’t told anyone her name, or perhaps hadn’t made it a point that anyone should remember anything beyond the fact that she was funny and brilliant--things he knew already. 

Vladimir came in looking rather grave, “Tell me something good, Vlad’. I’m begging you.”

“Your grandmother still expects you in the library.”

He chuckled, mirthlessly, such was the state of his life it seemed. After she’d escaped and Viktor had set about asking everyone she’d spoken to about her and Stanislav had made his announcement. There had been such ceremony around Viktor handing over the staff of Marvolo’s ruler and Stanislav naming him the heir apparent. He’d been just as shocked as everyone else to hear it, but Stanislav only smiled. 

Hence why he was due to see his grandmother about the country’s financials and still in charge of planning the destruction and memorial ceremony. 

A gown from Granger Enterprises, a company he thought had long been gone, and magic shoes. May the gods have mercy on him. 

His grandmother smiled and bade him to take a seat before trying to walk him through the rather important merchants.

“There’s Malfoy Expeditions, but before my calculations, they aren't seeing much revenue and have been in a steady decline since long before the war…”

He looked over the documents, over the sigils of each enterprise and stopped on one, familiar and pulling on the back of his mind… it was the same that was the heel of the magic shoe, the same that was on the back of the carriage. 

“Who is this? What company is this?”

She looked at it, “That’s Granger Enterprises. Muggle family that has been around for centuries. The current heir is the daughter of the late William Granger.”

He swallowed and worried his lip, flipping through the financials. It had been growing steadily over the years, turning to stagnation sometime during the war, but if the calculations were correct they were heading back onto the growth path. 

“Surprisingly, they handle a lot of the internal trade and external trade with nearby countries.”

“Granger Enterprises,” Viktor said.

“What is it Vitya?”

“The woman,” he said. “The woman from the ball… she had this sigil on her carriage said that she was testing out a prototype on behalf of Granger Enterprises…”

“Oh,” she said, “Vitya, what are you saying?”

“We’re dragon hearts, baba,” he said sadly looking up at her and she gasped. “I… She wouldn’t even tell me her name.”

“Oh Vitya, I--”

“Your Highness!” Vladimir came bursting in. “Your Highnesses, come! It’s the king!”

Viktor was up and out the door faster than Vladimir could speak, running down the hall towards his parent’s chambers and running in but what he saw was not what he was expecting. 

Sobbing, the twisting of his heart from his mother’s sobbing, his brothers perhaps glaring at him… none of that. 

Ekaterina was crying yes, but clinging to his father, her face in his shoulder as he rocked her gently, standing tall and pressing kisses to her dark hair trying to soothe her.

“Shh, love, I have you. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

There’s something… that he can’t place about his father’s movements. No longer stuttering with pain, no longer hesitant and sluggish, but as smooth and graceful as he remembered from when he was a child.

“Tatko?” Viktor asked confused looking at his parents. 

Stanislav looked at him and grinned, opening his arms to bade him come closer to squeeze him tightly as Ekaterina, clenched her fists in his dressing robe. 

“Good morning, dear Vitya. Any luck finding your forgetful princess?”

“What is going on tatko?”

“It would seem to me that your forgetful princess is some sort of botanical genius,” he said pleasantly, wrapping his arms around Ekaterina so she relaxed a little more. “She gave me this… flower I suppose, right out of her hair and bade me give it to Madame Pomfrey. I was feeling… quite out of it last night and whatever Madame Pomfrey did with it, I really couldn’t follow what the woman was saying about its properties, but I woke up feeling right as rain.”

Viktor nodded and looked to his mother before biding them goodbye and promising to find her. He turned to Vladimir as he came out and told him to ready a horse for him, he had an announcement to make in town. 

“Of course,” he said and rushed off leaving Viktor to go get dressed in something relatively princely before meeting Vladimir in front of the palace to head into the city. He took the registered information of Granger Enterprises with him and trotted into town. 

  
  


Hermione isn’t feeling entirely better, but just like with her grief, she has more than enough work to get done that she can’t really feel the pulsing pain in her chest. It seemed to be getting worse even as determination seemed to push through it. She felt sick. 

Harry was freaking out about occupying his parent’s seat in the Wizengamot, about Ginny and about the fact that Hermione seemed to be out of it and guzzling painkilling potions everyday.

“My dear, you’re not looking well,” Minerva said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you should take a break?”

She shook her head, “I have one more stop to make and then I’ll rest, I promise.”

Minerva nodded warily as Hermione went inside Snape’s office to make another payment on her debt. She set the money on the desk and looked out the window at the sound of hooves on the ground. 

She ducked back from the sights of the window and pressed a hand to her heart. Severus gave her a curious glance but went back to glancing. She heard someone dismount and then Viktor’s voice.

“I am proud to announce that by some art and perhaps grace of the woman who ran from me at the ball, my father, the King’s, health has improved drastically. The court physician believes he will be our King for many more years to come.”

A cheer went up around the courtyard and Hermione could only sigh with relief.

“That being said, I must ask everyone for their aid in finding this woman. The Forgetful Princess as she is being called, the only clue I have is that she was dressed by Granger Enterprises. I would ask that a representative of Granger Enterprises come to the palace before the week’s end.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. 

“I mean to find her,” he said solemnly. “She is my dragon heart.”

A gasp went around and she worried her lip. What the hell was she going to do now? She was just weeks away from getting her wizarding license and then Viktor had to go and do this! How was she going to walk the town like normal?

_ A glamour?  _ She thought and discarded that thought all together. Viktor was a mage, he would know. Polyjuice wouldn’t work since she had no idea how long he would want to question her for. Horse hooves grew more distant and people began to murmur on the streets. 

She’d used just enough of a glamor at the ball, but now that they were confirmed as dragon hearts and their magic had met, he would be able to see through it completely. Severues handed her her receipt and once she was sure it was correct, she stepped out of the building. Minerva stood stock still and pale.

“My dear, what are you going to do?” Minerva asked.

They walked quickly down the street to her office. Once inside, Minerva cast a privacy spell and began to wring her hands. 

“Dragonhearts? Dear girl, you either have the luck of the gods or they hate you. I’m not sure which it is!”

Hermione chuckled, “Neither do I.”

“What will you do?” Minerva asked. “You can’t go to the palace, they’d--”

“I know,” she said and looked at Minerva, “My only hope is to send you in my place.”

Hermione sighed and massaged her forehead, “How did it come to this?”

It was a dangerous game that she had to play. She had to get her wizarding license first. She had to pay the Malfoys back before the deadline and  _ then _ she could maybe disappear and run Granger Enterprises from somewhere else.

If the royal family found out that a muggle born was their son’s dragonheart, there was no telling what would happen to her. She was already in a precarious position before simply being a muggleborn witch and now this. 

“They’ll try me for blood treason,” Hermione said, “And everything will be ruined.”

Minerva wrung her hands, “But you can’t hide from his majesty forever, Hermione. You are good, but not that good.”

“I know,” she said. “I just have to do it long enough that I will at least not be  _ killed _ .”

Minerva nodded, “What is your plan exactly?”

Hermione looked at her and shook her head, “For once, I don’t have one.”

*

Minerva walked briskly to the palace, nodded at the guards, and followed one of the staff members up the stairs to where Viktor’s temporary study was. She took a deep breath and walked into the office when allowed. 

He looked up and smiled, “Hello ma’am, what can I do for you?”

“I am here as a representative of Granger Enterprises,” she said. “As you requested.”

“Yes,” he said, “Please sit down. Forgive me, I was expecting the heir to be here and you look nothing like the late William Granger.”

She smiled, “That would be because I’m am simply the account keeper for the heir. She had to see to something urgent for the week and asked that I come as she was sure that most questions you would have I could answer.”

“Fantastic,” he said. “Do you know where I might find the woman from the ball?”

Minerva frowned, feeling something odd and he smiled.

“Please know that the castle, especially my study, is lined with truth spells as I often preside over court and hold interviews.”

_ Shit, _ she thought.

“Yes, your Majesty, but I am not at liberty to divulge such information.”

He lifted an eyebrow, “And why is that?”

“Other than it is a great breach of privacy?” Minerva said. “The authority to turn over records of any kind short of court order is held with the owner of the company.”

He smiled, “Do you think I cannot get a court order?”

“Obviously that is not the case, your highness. I mean only to ask on the young lady’s behalf to be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” He asked and stood up to walk to the window, “Do you know what a dragonheart is, Mage McGonagall?”

_ Pray you are making your way out of the city right now, lass, _ Minerva thought. That was the plan at least for Hermione to leave Surtse’s capital and get her wizarding license in a smaller town and if not there then in another country. 

A wizarding license would not save her from blood treason penalties, but it would make it less likely that someone would charge her with it. Minerva knew too well that if they found that Hermione did not have her wizarding license, they would assert that she purposefully went after Viktor in an attempt to muddle the line and start another blood war even though Hermione did not know he was the prince until sometime during the ball. 

“Of course, I do.”

“Then you should know that I am being as reasonable as I can be,” he said. “I can feel her fear even beneath this strange calmness. I can feel her getting further away from the capital as well.”

_ Oh dear, _  she thought. Whatever had happened had been potent enough to give them that level of connection, or had it simply been because Hermione had been containing her magic so long?

“Unfortunately, the border to Surtse is closed without travel visa and as you know those have to be approved weeks in advance between countries.”

_ Gods have mercy... _

*

“Travel visa,” the soldier said holding out his hand. 

She handed over her traveling book in relief. She had figured this was going to happen  and had asked for an expedited homeland visiting visa from Espirit. The man waved her on and she walked over the border and into free land. Hermione knew the rules well enough to know that she could train in Surtse, but in order for it to be official and airtight, she would have to get her license in the place that should have had wizarding custody over her: her mother’s home country. It took three days for her to arrive in Espirit and find lodging. The next day would be her exam and then she could at least breathe a bit.

_ Just a bit longer,  _ she thought. 

By her calculations, if she pulled money out of her savings account, she could pay the Malfoys in full within a week. At the very least, if she was going to be arrested, then Granger Enterprises would remain hers. 

With a deep breath, she began to pen the letter to McGonagall making sure to keep it as business-related as possible in case Minerva was being watched, which she undoubtedly was. 

Hermione only hoped that it wouldn’t end as badly as it could. She’d drafted up placeholder contracts and obscured the terms and such so much so that it would be impossible to know anything more than Granger Enterprise went into business with Madame Malkin and sent a young lady who worked for the company as a representative on their merchant’s invitation and that she had volunteered for the task. Since there was no real consideration exchanged because the dress and things all remained property of Granger Enterprises, there hadn’t needed to be a name given.

It was a lot of legal loops, but it would stand in court. She sent her letter in the morning on her way to her exam. She passed easily and walked out of the building with a brand new license to the wand shop. It took two hours to find the wand that she didn’t make things blow up with, but when she exited the building she came upon a sight she had not been expecting nor could have anticipated given the distance between Surtse and Espirit. 

Viktor sitting on his broom in light armor.

“Viktor…”


	11. More Than Blood Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione stumbles into things she had never considered.

“Viktor…”

His eyes glowed as he looked down at her, and she felt her soul reaching out to him. She could feel his heart beating and the agitation and mindlessness of him being there.  It wasn’t Viktor that had gotten him there so quickly but their bond and his magic. He was in his sleeping clothes beneath light armor for goodness sake.

How was this possible? They’d only met a handful of times. It shouldn’t have been possible to have such a connection.

_ What am I missing? _

She took a step back, and the broom followed her. His eyes staring at her lost and dazed.

“Viktor,” she breathed. “You’re scaring me… S-say something.”

He floated closer to her as she tried to escape, she turned to run but he simply floated over her head and cut her path off. She was exhausted, but she had to escape  _ now _ . It would only be a matter of time before he woke up out of that trance and had full faculties. 

Hermione couldn't fight him, and she still had to wait to get her test results and license for another hour. 

How was she going to evade him for an hour?

_ Run. _

She turned and took off down the street and through alleyways. She heard him flying after her, but with each turn, he slowed. There wasn't enough space to maneuver on a broom in the narrower alleyways and she just had to escape him long enough to hide effectively.

She felt ridiculous. She was half asleep and running and he was asleep and flying. She ran into the forest and into a system of caves with a sigh before collapsing to the ground and praying that he wouldn't--

“Miss,” he said and Hermione slowly turned towards him. 

He stood in front of her with his broom in hand and looked as confused as ever.

“Where are we?”

Hermione swallowed and made a decision as she stood and met his gaze. Something warm in her chest at their proximity. She had to get anything done, no matter the consequence.

_ Last resort and desperate measures,  _ she thought and focused her magic to command him. Something close to a dark art long since banished, but not quite that. It was risky but near untraceable due to its subtlety and wandless nature.

“Ma’am--"

“ _ Viktor Krum of Surtse,”  _ she said and heard him gasp. His back straightened and his gaze remained focused on her. “ _ You will return to your quarters in Surtse and tell no one you have seen me today. You will not remember this encounter nor will you remember coming here. You will pursue me no further. Now go.” _

She felt the resistance but slowly his body mechanically mounted his broom as her strength gave out. The last thing she saw was him flying out of the cave.

*

She woke up alone in the cave and dizzy. She shivered and forced herself onto her hands and knees before crawling towards the exit. The sky was dark above her and her head swam.

Something caught in her throat; it burned like she drank acid and she coughed trying to clear it but nothing came.

She would have cried out if she had the faculty to do so. Lying still she prayed for it to be over sooner rather than later as time dragged on and burn did not lessen but spread through the rest of her body.

_ What's happening to me? _

She wrapped a hand around her throat and dragged herself towards the exit. It seemed that little time had passed since she encountered Viktor but enough that the sun had moved through the sky noticeably. 

She found a stream nearby and bent to drink from it. The water seemed to soothe her throat for reasons she didn't question and she lay there drinking until the burning had gone and she felt better.

Standing she checked her pockets for her magic map and found that she wasn't too far from town. She returned as quickly as she could to the wizarding office and found that she had passed her exam and had officially been granted her wizarding license.

“Congratulations dear.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and with her license went to the nearest wand shop to find one. 

The old wand maker smiled kindly at her and passed a hand over her head before her eyes widened.

“It has been a long time since one such as yourself has graced this shop,” she said, “You are in luck, my dear. I suppose all things happen for a reason. This way if you please.”

“What does that mean?”

“Which part dear girl?” she asked and turned a corner towards the back of the shop.

“One such as myself? When was the last time someone like me came here?”

“As I said dear, which part? A muggle-born, a dragon heart, a time-walker, or a siren?”

“Pardon me, I must have misheard you… did you say a siren?”

She turned, “Yes my dear, I did.”

“How did you know I was a muggle-born or any of that? Sirens exist? I thought they all died out during the war and…what are time-walkers?”

Hermione shook her head and the woman smiled, “It seems you have a lot of questions dear. Why don't you have a seat, and we’ll talk more when I've seen my last few customers off?”

“What customers--”

The bell above the shop's door rang.

“Hello?”

Hermione's eyes widened as the woman guided her, dumbfounded to a seat. She placed a teapot and a mug in front of her.

“It should help with the burning.”

“Burning?”

Hermione winced as a flare of that same burn from the cave rose up through her throat and spread. She coughed and grabbed for the tea only to find it cold as the woman left to tend to her customers.

She heard them leave sometime after her fifth cup and remained panting in her seat. The tea did in fact help, but it answered no questions as to  _ why _ her throat was burning at all. She’d used a low-level hypnosis technique, hadn’t she? It said nothing about burning in her throat. The technique actually had  _ nothing _ to do with her throat or her voice at all!

“Goodness child you have quite the resilience, or perhaps your dragonheart comes from a very pure line.”

Hermione gasped and looked up at her, “Please… explain. Who are you?”

“My name is Anati Telos,” she said with a beaming smile. In her face, she saw Selena, her mother and the name shot through her like lightning. 

Her body tensed, and she leaned forward; her eyes widened, and she searched every angle of the woman’s face, “ _ Telos? _ ”

“Yes,” she said, “I take it the name is familiar to you?”

“Selena… Telos.”

“Yes, what about her?” she asked, “Selena Telos of the Secrets of Telos?”

“Yes.”

“She was my cousin, what about her?”

“I…” Hermione remained quiet and stared at the woman. She swallowed. “I…”

The woman frowned, “What’s wrong dear?”

“I… my name is Hermione Granger.”

Her frown deepened and her eyes widened, “ _ Hermione? _ ”

She nodded.   
“Daughter of William Granger?”

She nodded again.

She gasped and stood up rushing to the windows to close all the blinds. 

“What is it?”

“You’ve inherited the gift full-swing. my dear cousin,” she said, “That is not something that we can take lightly. Tell me, have you ever used that Time Turner?”

Hermione shook her head and took it in her hand, “No. I just like to have it with me.”

“Good,” she said, "And your voice. Who did you use it on?”

“MY voice?”Hermione asked, “You’re not making any sense.”

“You used your voice to command someone or something to do something, who was it? When was it? What did you tell them to do?”

“How could you possibly--”

Anati grabbed her by the shoulder and cupped her face, “Please focus, Hermione. Answer my questions. Who was it?”

“Viktor… Viktor Krum.”

She gasped, “Of Surtse?”

She nodded.

“Whatever for-- Why would you--”

Anati pushed her towards the wall and lifted her wand to Hermione’s throat. Hermione raised her hand, her eyes widened.

“Are you in contact with wizards of Marvolo?”

“What? No! Why would you ask me that?”

“Has anyone contact you with a history? Have you been near them?”

“Not that I know of, I don’t--”

“Think carefully, Hermione. There are many families in Surtse who have a dark history and many more who know things about us that would put us all in danger. Think carefully. Dolohov?”

“Who?”

“Lestrange?”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Karkaroff?”

“I’ve never heard of them--”

“Malfoy.”

Hermione gasped and Anati’s eyes narrowed, “You’ve had contact with the Malfoys? Who else? The Prince family?”

She shook her head, “I’ve never heard of the Princes, but… my father was with Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Sweet heavens,” she thought, “You father was a cunning one, wasn’t he? Hiding you in plain sight? Hiding you with  _ them _ of all people.”

“Are you going to tell me what all this is about?” she asked, “Or keep pointing your wand at my throat.”

Anati’s lips twitched, and in her eyes, Hermione could almost  _ see _ her considering casting the spell on the tip of her tongue. 

“Come with me,” Anati said, “There is much to explain and little time to do it in.”

Hermione nodded and followed Anati out the back door with her bag. She walked quickly through the shadows as Hermione hurried after her. She knew that there were things that she had never known about her mother’s family, but she had never imagined that it would be this serious. 

Selena Telos had a charm about her. That much was true, but to talk about sirens and time-turners as if they were real and Hermione should have known about them all this time had her mind wheeling. 

They arrived at a small cottage and Anati escorted her in. A group of women about Anati’s age all looked up as they entered. In their faces, she could see her mother and her heart raced. 

“What…”

“Alua, Laki cast up every privacy charm we have and let everyone know to stay away for the night. We’ll have to cancel dinner.”

“What? Why?” one of the women asked, “Have you any idea how long I’ve been peeling potatoes?”

“Would you rather put the potatoes in stasis or have your head put in stasis as a Marvolo remnant?”

her eyes widened and she looked at Hermione who shook her head unknowingly. 

“What’s going on, Anati?” An older woman came out of the back and Hermione froze seeing her. The woman’s eyes were a blind blue, yet she looked right at Hermione and gasped. 

“Hermione Granger,” the woman greeted, “It has been… a long time coming. Laki, Alua, Yoli, do as Anati has asked.”

The women move along with Anati and Hermione watched them cast spell after spell around the small house and Hermione feels more caged by the moment. The old woman sat down at the table with a sigh and smiled at Hermione.

“You have been running for a long time dear,” she said, “Come sit down at the table. There is much to discuss.”

Hermione swallowed and did as she asked as the women continued to work.

“Do you know how to peel potatoes?’

“Y-Yes ma’am,” she said.

“Good,” she said. “That’s a good skill to have. We could use another hand.”

Cautiously, she picked up a knife as the rest of the women came back to join them at the table. Their expressions were serious but they each picked up a knife and began to peel potatoes as if they hadn’t turned the small cottage into a type of ultra-secure prison.

Hermione swallowed ut held her tongue as the anxiety continued to rise and the old woman watched her with her blind-blue eyes. 

“The Malfoys have treated you terribly,” she said, “You have the potato peeling skill of a serving girl.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the spiral of potato peel. 

The old woman laughed, “It has been a long time since so many of my descendants were at a table together. Anati, why have you frightened this poor girl?”

“It wasn’t on purpose, grandma, she frightened me!”

Hermione flinched and the old woman chuckled, “She does have the gift…. that much is true. Who was it that you used your voice on?”

“Viktor Krum of Surtse.”

The old woman blinked and burst into laughter a moment later as the other four women look at her in horror.

“Are you crazy?”

“Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“The war hero? So close to the memorial celebration of the end of the war? Have you  _ lost it? _ ”

The old woman whacked one of them in the head, “Yoli, be kind to your niece.”

“Neice?” Hermione breathed and looked at the woman named Yoli as she snorted. 

“Selena is no sister of mine,” she said. “She ran off to Surtse and started all of this mess that we have to clean up now!”

The old woman shook her head, “You have to let go of your jealousy, dear. She did what she thought was best.”

“And look at where it’s landed us with her daughter right back here and us all in danger. That power should have  _ died _ a long time ago with him, yet it’s still here cursing us all!”

The old woman shook her head, “Forgive her, Hermione. She and your mother had their own issues which apparently she plans to take out on you.”

Yoli flinched and ducked her head and continued peeling her potatoes. 

“You’re Selena’s daughter?”

Hermione nodded.

The woman smiled and as Hermione looked at her she could at least tell that she was older than Yoli and older than Anati, but there wasn’t much else she could glean. 

“Though I wish that I could have met you under better circumstances,” she began, “It is nice to meet you, little Hermione.”

“Hello, ma’am.”

“I’m Laki,” she said, “I’m Selena’s mother.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded before frowning, “You’re… the woman in the yellow dress.”

Laki chuckled, “Yes, I am surprised that she still had that photo.”

Hermione worried her lip, “I remember seeing it in her photo album once. She never told me who it was but… I got the feeling that it was important.”

Alua sighed, “Since we’re doing this, I’m Alua. Yoli’s mother. As my sister said, I wish it was under better circumstances than this, but I am glad to have met you.”

The oldest woman smiled, “And I am the grand vizier of the Telos family.”

Yoli rolled her eyes as Laki and Alua laughed, “Really mom?”

“Really,” she said with a smile, “I’m your great-grandmother, Hermiona. I am glad that someone named their child after me.”

Hermione chuckled at that, “It is wonderful to meet you all, but if you are all in danger by my being here, I--”

“Nonsense,” Hermiona said, “This is a very different age than then and you have questions that only we can answer, but answer me this, Hermione… Viktor is your Dragonheart, isn’t he?” 

Hermione nodded and Yoli grit her teeth, “Of course.”

“Well my dear, you have a very long road ahead of you,” Hermiona said seriously. 

“I only asked him to return home and forget having seen me today. To not pursue me any longer... “

“Well that is a start,” she said with a laugh, “Though an impossible command for even a powerful siren to have obeyed.”

“What does that mean? I thought I was just using basic hypnotism.”

“Selena had the gift,” she said, “And it has passed to you from your grandfather.”

Laki nodded and shuddered, “Yes, it has.”

Hermione worried her lip, “What happened?”

Laki sighed. Hermione’s grandfather, Selena’s father, was from Marvolo. He charmed Laki had children with her until Selena was born as neither of their other children had inherited either gift. 

Hermiona was a time-turned, so her children should have had more than just longevity going for them, yet they hadn’t. Hermione’s grandfather wanted a child that had both his siren gifts and the gift of time to offer up to the ruler of Marvolo as a tool of war.

“A strong enough siren could have turned the war,” Laki said, “Selena had the gift, but she fought it and fought him…”

Laki lowered her head, “In the end…. he killed our son and Selena lost it.”

Hermione gasped and thought back to the album. There was a photo just one. Yoli grit her teeth. 

“She killed him,” Yoli said.

“Yoli--”

“No,” Yoli said, glaring at her mother, “You can’t sugar coat it. She  _ killed _ our brother.”

Laki shook her head, “It wasn’t her fault.”

Hermione swallowed as Yoli glared at her, “You always say that about it. We both know they never really got along.”

“Stop it.”

“What if she just used it as an excuse?”

“Stop it!” Laki said slamming her knife down, “That is  _ not _ true. Selena loved Talan. They fought. Of course, they fought, but they loved each other.”

“Of course you think so,” she said, “You have no idea. There’s no siren’s voice that could  _ make _ you do something like that.”

Hermiona shook her head, “You have a grave misunderstanding of how powerful your father was…. Selena was just a child.”

Yoli snorted, “Not child enough to be unable to do it.”

Laki sighed and looked at Hermione, “He forced her to and she… when she came around she lost it.”

Laki shuddered. it had been so dark that night. Laki and Yoli had been held outside the clearing and made to watch the encounter. Yoli didn’t remember it clearly, but Laki did. He’d commanded Talan to kill Selena and had given her no choice while commanding her to kill him. It was supposed to break her and it did. She’d killed Talan and turned full of a fury of a siren and screeched his head off. She’d tapped into her harpy relations that night and had cut off all ties to that part of her heritage as far as she could tell.

Hermione reached out and took her hand gently. their eyes met and she smiled weakly. 

“She killed her father that night too,” she said finally, “And that was the last time we saw her.”

Yoli snorted, “Before the Death Eaters came.”

They ended up running hard and fast until they’d settled in this small town and kept to themselves. They’d been hiding there ever since and had never heard from Selena again. They had only felt her passing as she appeared on the family tree year prior. 

“And now you’re here,” Laki said with a smile. “You are welcome to stay.”

“I can’t,” she said, “They left me their businesses and I have to protect them. I have friends and promises waiting for me.”

Laki nodded, “Well at least stay for a while. You must have questions.”

“I do,” Hermione said. 

But she wasn’t really sure if she wanted the answers to them. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming back to read my shenanigans. I know it's been forever, but 2018 has literally been the hardest year it could have possibly been. I don't even think there's much that could top it except maybe...  
> Nah. I got nothing.
> 
> I will try to have this finished before the end of the year, but I can't make any promises since I haven't even scratched the surface of dealing with my own issues. Thanks for all the support, patience, and so on. Your comments and things were the highlights of a lot of dark days these past few months. Things will get better, and I say that not just for myself but for everyone who is going through a tough time.
> 
> Things will get better.
> 
> Best,
> 
> BLV13


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